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THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


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Queen  Charlotte,  Consort  of  George  III. 

from  thi  painting  by  T,  Gainsborough  in  the,  Victoria  and  Albert 
Museum,  South  Kensington. 


* 


THE 

KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


BY 

FRANK  FRANKFORT  MOORE 

AUTHOR  OF  “A  GEORGIAN  PAGEANT,”  “THE  LIFE  OF  OLIVER 
GOLDSMITH,”  “THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE,”  ETC.' 


ILLUSTRATED 


HODDER  AND  STOUGHTON 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTORY  .  • .  .  .  .  .1 

CHAPTER  II 

HER  BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE  .  .  .  ■  25 

CHAPTER  III 

A  PLEASANT  HOUSEHOLD  .  .  .  .  -39 

CHAPTER  IV 

FEELING  HER  WAY  .  .  .  .  .  -53 

CHAPTER  V 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  COMEDY  .  .  .  .  65 

CHAPTER  VI 

THE  FIRST  STEP  .  .  •  •  •  -79 

V 


VI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  VII 

PAGE 

A  BRILLIANT  SUCCESS  .  .  .  .  *93 

CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  REWARDS  OF  SUCCESS  .....  105 

CHAPTER  IX 

AN  IMPORTANT  CONNECTION  ....  121 

CHAPTER  X 

IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THE  QUEEN  ....  I33 

CHAPTER  XI 

THE  DAILY  ROUND  ...  .  .  I47 

CHAPTER  XII 

THE  QUEEN’S  BELL  ......  165 

CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  PRINCESSES  ......  l8l 

CHAPTER  XIV 

A  GALLERY  OF  PORTRAITS  .  .  .  .  •  r95 


CONTENTS 


YU 


CHAPTER  XV 

PAGE 

A  ROOMFUL  OF  COLONELS  .....  213 

CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  TERROR  OF  THE  PALACE  ....  22() 

CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NEOPHYTE  .  .  .  249 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  DAY  OF  WAITING  ......  261 

CHAPTER  XIX 

LEARNING  HER  BUSINESS  .....  275 

CHAPTER  XX 

COMEDIES  OF  THE  COURT  .....  289 

CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  TRAGIC  MUSE  ......  307 

CHAPTER  XXII 


THE  CARICATURIST 


•  323 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

PAGE 

THE  PAGEANT  OF  IMPEACHMENT  ....  337 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

miss  burney’s  trial  .  .  ■  .  ,  351 

CHAPTER  XXV 

MR.  BURKE  MAKES  HIS  SPEECH  ....  365 

CHAPTER  XXVI 

FROM  WESTMINSTER  HALL  TO  FAUCONBERG  HALL  .  .  379 

CHAPTER  XXVII 

A  REIGN  OF  TERROR  ......  397 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A  REMARKABLE  INTERVIEW  .....  413 

CHAPTER  XXIX 

EXCURSIONS  AND  ALARUMS  .....  425 

CHAPTER  XXX 

CONCERNING  MADAME  D’ARBLAY  ....  447 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


QUEEN  CHARLOTTE,  CONSORT  OF  GEORGE  III.  .  Frontispiece 

From  the  picture  by  T.  Gainsborough,  in  the  Victoria  and 
Albert  Museum,  South  Kensington 


FACING  PAGE 

GARRICK  AND  HIS  WIFE  .  .  .  .  .42 

From  the  picture  by  Hogarth  in  the  Royal  Collection 

FRANCES  BURNEY  .  .  .  .  .  .82 

From  the  picture  by  her  cousin,  E.  F.  Burney 


MRS.  DELANY  .......  124 

From  the  picture  by  Opie,  painted  by  command  of  George  III. 
in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery 


QUEEN  CHARLOTTE  ......  246 

From  the  picture  by  Sir  William  Beechey,  R.A. 

ELIZABETH  FARREN  (AFTERWARDS  COUNTESS  OF  DERBY)  .  314 

From  the  pastel  by  Ozias  Humphrey,  R.A.,  in  the  National 
Gallery,  Dublin 


MRS.  SIDDONS  ......  430 

From  the  picture  by  Sir  William  Beechey,  R.A.,  in  the  National 
Portrait  Gallery 


IX 


, 

■ 


INTRODUCTORY 


2 


CHAPTER  I 


INTRODUCTORY 

MOST  whimsical  of  all  the  Chronicles  of  Kissing 
noted  by  Mr.  Pepys  in  his  Diary  is  the 
record  of  his  experience  upon  one  occasion  in  West¬ 
minster  Abbey.  Some  alterations  were  being  carried 
out  which  made  it  necessary  to  disturb  the  tomb  of 
Jane  Seymour,  and  the  workmen  had  unceremoni¬ 
ously  turned  out  the  remains  of  the  Queen  before  the 
eyes  of  Mr.  Pepys,  pretty  much,  it  seems  to  us,  as  the 
First  Clown  in  Hamlet  did  the  bones  of  Yorick  at  the 
feet  of  the  Prince  and  his  companion,  Horatio  ;  and, 
like  Hamlet,  Mr.  Pepys  picked  up  the  skull,  but  not 
to  point  a  moral.  “  I  did  kiss  the  lips  of  a  dead 
Queen,”  he  recorded,  and  evidently  felt  proud  of  the 
act,  though  he  did  not  enlarge  upon  it  with  the  gusto 
that  marks  his  references  to  his  more  animated  essays 
of  the  same  type.  “  I  did  kiss  the  lips  of  a  dead 
Queen!” 

It  seems  to  us  that  a  good  many  of  the  historical 
records  of  the  lives  of  “  crowned  heads  ”  afford  a 
reader  no  greater  treat  than  that  which  was  available 
to  Mr.  Pepys  in  Westminster  Abbey.  They  offer  us 
the  fleshless  lips  of  a  dead  monarch  to  kiss.  When 
we  want  to  get  close  to  the  flesh  and  blood  that  go 


4 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


to  the  making  of  a  king  or  queen,  we  are  handed  a 
fully  bleached  skull  and  asked  to  satisfy  ourselves  with 
that.  The  reading  of  a  good  deal  of  that  matter 
which  passes  as  history  no  more  brings  us  in  contact 
with  the  man  who  was  King  or  the  woman  who  was 
Queen  than  the  solitary  chaste  kiss  of  Pepys  let  him 
into  any  of  the  secrets  of  the  life  of  Queen  Jane 
Seymour  ;  and  that  is  how  it  comes  that  the  reading 
of  history  suggests  little  beyond  the  opening  up  of  old 
graves  and  the  tumbling  out  of  inarticulated  bones. 

Happily,  there  have  been  several  notable  and 
precious  exceptions  to  this  rule  which  made  the 
science  of  the  historian  one  with  that  of  the  osteo¬ 
logist  ;  and  we  have  become  as  happily  intimate  with 
the  homes  of  some  of  our  sovereigns  as  we  were  with 
their  palaces.  We  have  been  brought  into  touch 
with  august  personages,  and  found  them  to  be  delight¬ 
fully  flesh  and  blood,  arousing  our  sympathies,  and 
even  our  affections,  making  plain  a  great  deal  that 
had  been  obscure,  and  thus  giving  us  a  chance  of 
seeing  the  true  perspective  and  the  right  proportions 
of  the  figures  in  that  series  of  living  pictures  which 
we  call  history.  Among  such  records  we  are  disposed 
to  give  a  high  place  in  point  of  interest  to  the  Diary 
kept  by  Fanny  Burney  during  the  five  years  she  spent 
in  daily  association  with  Queen  Charlotte,  Consort  of 
George  III.,  discharging  the  duties  of  the  intimate 
office  of  Keeper  of  the  Robes.  It  was  an  exceptional 
thing  that  a  woman  of  imagination  and  intelligence, 
a  woman  possessing  great  powers  of  observation 
and  description,  a  woman  whose  records  could  be 


INTRODUCTORY 


5 


implicitly  relied  on,  should  occupy  a  situation  which 
demanded  the  exercise  of  none  of  these  qualities,  but 
which  was,  at  the  same  time,  eminently  calculated  to 
give  the  holder  innumerable  opportunities  of  display¬ 
ing  them  through  the  medium  adopted  by  Fanny 
Burney.  A  secretary  must  be  secret,  and  such  a 
Royal  official  soon  acquires  so  great  a  habit  of  secrecy 
that  his  capacity  to  reveal  anything  becomes  atrophied; 
hence,  although  in  a  position  of  close  intimacy  in 
regard  to  his  master,  he  makes  the  most  indifferent  of 
recorders  :  his  revelations  are  only  revelations  of  his 
own  incapacity  in  this  direction.  It  would  seem  as  if  the 
other  personal  officials  of  a  king  or  queen  were  chosen 
by  reason  of  their  unswerving  loyalty  to  the  traditions 
that  made  the  possession  of  exceptional  ability  on 
their  part  almost  an  impertinence.  The  English 
monarchs  had  little  to  fear  from  the  intelligence  of 
their  customary  entourage,  least  of  all  the  Hanoverian 
Georges.  But  suddenly  there  appeared  in  the  form 
of  a  humble,  but  an  intimate  attendant  upon  Queen 
Charlotte,  a  young  woman  whose  ability  as  an 
observer  and  a  writer  had  been  acknowledged  and 
applauded  by  the  greatest  intellects  in  Europe — a 
young  woman  whose  sense  of  comedy  only  fell  short 
of  enabling  her  to  perceive  the  incongruous  elements 
in  her  own  occupation  in  relation  to  the  Queen  ;  and  the 
result  was,  as  might  have  been  expected,  a  narrative 
of  at  least  some  phases  of  the  home-life  of  Royalty 
such  as  had  never  before  been  written.  The  pages 
of  Fanny  Burney’s  Diary  are  illuminating,  not  with 
that  strong  light  that  beats  upon  a  throne,  but  rather 


6 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


with  the  chastened  flame  of  the  bedroom  taper — thin, 
but  held  very  close  indeed  to  the  Royal  personages, 
not  causing  our  eyes  to  be  dazzled  by  any  reflected 
effulgence,  but  giving  us  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
them  with  delightful  intimacy.  To  say  that  the  Diary 
shows  us  Royalty  in  a  new  light  is  to  make  the  most 
general  comment  upon  it.  To  say  that  it  shows  King 
George  III.  and  his  wife  in  the  most  appropriate 
illumination  is  to  be  a  little  more  appreciative  of  its 
real  value.  They  were  the  monarchs  of  the  domestic 
taper,  not  of  the  garish  footlights.  They  were  the 
sovereigns  of  the  hearth  and  home,  not  of  the  pageant 
and  palace,  and  the  story  of  their  life  did  not  lend 
itself  to  the  bard  of  the  heroic,  but  to  the  chronicler 
of  the  humdrum  ;  and  it  is  because  Fanny  Burney 
showed  herself  to  be  a  finished  artist  of  this  genre 
that  we  feel  she  was  deserving  of  the  position  which 
she  occupied  in  the  literature  of  her  day,  many  years 
before  her  Diary  was  given  to  the  world.  Reading 
those  of  its  pages  that  refer  to  the  five  years  of  her 
life  spent  in  attendance  on  Queen  Charlotte,  one  is 
led  to  wonder  what  any  other  woman  writer  of  the 
period  would  have  made  of  the  same  unpromising 
materials.  We  do  not  need  to  guess  what  would  have 
been  made  of  them  by  one  of  those  brilliant  writers 
who  have  given  us  such  vivid  pictures  of  some  of  the 
Courts  of  France — a  chapter  of  finished  cynicism  and 
consummate  slight  would  have  been  sufficient  for  their 
purpose,  unless  they  had  a  reserve  of  witticism  of 
which  they  were  anxious  to  get  rid.  It  was  the  period 
of  exquisite  insincerity  among  the  aristocracy  both  of 


INTRODUCTORY 


7 


France  and  England,  and  Boucher,  Watteau,  and 
Fragonard  were  the  interpreters  of  the  life  which  was 
lived  by  the  former  and  aped  by  the  latter.  But  the 
mob  which  broke  into  the  Tuileries  was  intolerably 
sincere,  and  of  the  orgy  that  followed  Fragonard 
would  have  been  the  most  unsympathetic  limner. 

Reading  Fanny  Burney’s  records  during  these  event¬ 
ful  years,  we  begin  to  perceive  how  it  was  that,  with 
the  spirit  of  Revolution  moving  over  the  face  of  the 
earth,  no  English  palace  was  in  jeopardy.  Let  us 
look  about  for  a  picture  that  is  as  typical  of  the 
English  Court  as  one  of  Fragonard’s  was  of  the 
French.  We  have  it  before  us  in  Van  Eyck’s 
portraits  of  Jean  Arnolfini  and  his  wife — the  quint¬ 
essence  of  the  humdrum  as  it  appears  to  the  super¬ 
ficial  observer — humdrum  to  a  point  of  laughter, 
it  may  be  ;  but  there  is  something  solid  as  well  as 
stolid  in  it:  we  feel  that  it  is  not  the  house  of  Jean 
Arnolfini  and  Jeanne  de  Chenany  that  an  infuri¬ 
ated  mob  would  attack  and  sack  ;  and  that  is  just  what 
we  feel  when  we  see  that  picture  painted  by  Fanny 
Burney  of  Biirgermeister  George  and  his  Hausfrau 
Charlotte.  The  maddest  of  mobs  would  have  paused 
before  breaking  in  a  single  panel  of  the  house-door  of 
this  worthy  and  commonplace  couple.  No  one  could 
think  of  this  pair  spending  their  days  and  nights  plan¬ 
ning  a  Little  Trianon  or  discussing  from  every  stand¬ 
point  one  of  the  masterpieces  of  Rissener  or  Gouthiere; 
while  the  thought  of  associating  the  good  woman  with 
a  mystery  of  a  diamond  necklace  would  be  as  ridiculous 
as  that  of  Marie  Antoinette’s  looking  with  gravity 


8 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


upon  the  “  mosaic  ”  flower  studies  of  Mrs.  Delany,  done 
with  coloured  foil  by  the  aid  of  scissors  and  paste. 

No  more  instructive  pages  of  real  history  than  these 
of  Fanny  Burneydo  we  seek  to  read.  She  may  not  let 
us  into  any  secret  that  could  not  be  read  without  her 
assistance,  but  her  evidence  is  that  of  an  eye-witness 
of  a  situation  respecting  which  nearly  all  the  rest  of 
the  evidence  is  circumstantial.  She  was  present,  she 
saw,  and  she  possessed  the  most  important  essential 
to  a  good  witness — the  capacity  to  describe  all  that 
she  saw.  She  was  quite  guiltless  of  having  any 
object  in  writing  beyond  the  discharge  of  the  most 
ordinary  duty  of  a  daughter  in  respect  of  her  father 
and  the  other  members  of  her  family.  She  was  quite 
unconscious  of  there  being  any  political  situation  in 
England  or  elsewhere  ;  and  she  most  certainly  re¬ 
garded  the  French  Revolution  with  the  horror  that  it 
inspired  at  English  tea-tables.  She  heard  of  its 
barbarities  with  a  shudder  ;  they  were  in  her  eyes, 
as  in  the  eyes  of  thousands  of  her  countrymen,  nothing 
more  than  the  accidental  outburst  of  a  handful  of 
cut-throats.  She  never  thought  of  inquiring  if  it  was 
possible  that  the  Revolution  was  the  natural  result  of 
a  people’s  awaking  to  a  knowledge  of  their  own  power 
and  of  the  impotency  of  their  oppressors  ;  and  when 
she  was  writing  of  the  simple  homely  life  of  the  Royal 
pair,  who  were  worse  housed,  worse  fed,  and  worse 
attended  than  hundreds  of  their  subjects,  she  would 
have  been  frightened  to  death  if  any  one  had  hinted 
to  her  that  she  was  making  a  valuable  contribution 
to  the  knowledge  of  posterity,  helping  to  tell  posterity 


INTRODUCTORY 


9 


how  it  was  that,  while  the  awaking  of  the  French 
nation  was  being  followed  by  such  terrific  results,  the 
English  people  were  yelling  objurgations  against  the 
physicians  whom  they  thought  dilatory  in  restoring 
King  George  to  health!  It  was  the  awaking  to  a 
knowledge  of  the  ease  with  which  the  awful  barrier 
standing  as  a  sacred  and  mysterious  circle  between  a 
king  and  his  people  could  be  broken  through,  that 
produced  the  atrocities  of  the  Revolution  ;  and  Fanny 
Burney  enables  us  to  see  that  it  was  because  the  King 
and  Queen  of  England  had  already  broken  down  this 
barrier  between  them  and  their  people  that  a  Revolu¬ 
tion  in  England  could  have  had  no  chance  of  success. 
She  lets  us  see  that  the  place  which  was  called  a  Royal 
palace  in  England  was  no  more  a  palace  than  is  the 
dwelling  of  a  bishop  which  is  so  styled. 

The  King  and  Queen  of  England  had  never  shown 
any  desire  to  live  in  splendour  in  a  castle  overtopping 
every  turret  in  the  country.  Only  one  palace  worthy 
of  the  name  was  there  in  England,  and  it  was  built  by 
a  subject  and  appropriated  by  one  sovereign,  only  to 
be  abandoned  by  another  and  at  last  turned  into  a 
home  for  deserving  gentlewomen  with  no  objection  to 
living  in  the  suburbs.  All  the  other  Royal  residences 
were  even  more  absurd  in  the  eighteenth  century  than 
they  are  to-day,  when  a  Queen  may  truthfully  say,  as 
the  homeliest  of  all  said  to  one  of  her  subjects,  “  I  have 
come  from  my  house  to  your  palace.” 

The  Diary  written  by  Fanny  Burney  to  her  father 
and  sisters  between  the  dust  and  draughts  of  a  jerry- 
built  annexe  to  Windsor  Castle  and  the  blue-mould 


10 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


and  mildew  of  a  barrack  at  Kew,  lets  us  see  in  a 
moment  how,  by  a  laughable  paradox,  the  King  and 
Queen  of  England  were  protected  by  the  dilapidations 
of  their  homes  from  the  spirit  that  was  aroused  by  the 
artistic  glories  of  the  Great  and  Little  Trianon  and 
the  splendours  of  Versailles  and  the  Tuileries.  Mad 
though  a  mob  might  be,  burning  to  avenge  the 
wrongs  they  had  suffered  at  the  hands  of  those  who 
had  surrounded  themselves  with  luxuries  purchased  at 
the  price  of  the  starvation  of  the  people,  no  mob 
would  be  ridiculous  enough  to  think  of  kicking  in  the 
panel  of  a  hall-door  in  order  to  annoy  a  respectable 
couple  at  tea  in  the  back  parlour.  It  is  the  chronicler 
of  that  tea  in  the  back  parlour  who  appears  to  us  as  a 
more  instructive  historian  than  the  recorder  of  those 
shufflings  of  place-hunters  that  people  call  “politics.” 
It  does  not  matter  that  the  chronicler  never  sees  the 
good  old  things  as  they  really  are  and  as  she  describes 
them  (all  unconsciously)  for  the  benefit  of  posterity — 
it  does  not  matter  that  she  is  revealing  the  fact  that 
the  glamour  which  was,  and  is  still,  associated  with  the 
idea  of  Royalty  was  constantly  getting  between  her 
and  her  subject — the  pictures  that  she  paints  convey  to 
us  all  the  same  what  we  feel  to  be  the  truth,  'for  she 
never  tries  to  throw  a  glamour  over  her  readers, 
forcing  them  to  sing  Titania’s  song  over  her  “gentle 
joy”  with  the  “great  fat  ears.”  She  allows  them  to 
see  in  clear  air  all  that  she  saw  through  the  roseate 
mist  that  clings  to  Royalty,  and  they  feel  that  she  has 
done  her  duty  to  her  readers,  her  duty  to  her 
sovereigns,  and  her  duty  to  herself. 


INTRODUCTORY 


11 


The  splendid  imagination  of  Gainsborough — a 
genius  who  thought  in  colour,  and  possessed  even 
more  than  the  power  of  Turner  in  getting  at  the  truth 
by  the  aid  of  innumerable  inaccuracies — was  equal  to 
the  task  of  imparting  the  splendour  of  the  legend  of 
majestic  Royalty  to  his  portrait  of  the  homely  Queen 
Charlotte  ;  and  Fanny  Burney  seemed  ever  to  have 
that  masterpiece  before  her  when  touching  upon  her 
Royal  mistress  and  her  spouse  ;  but  its  influence  is 
as  nothing  upon  her  art :  no  matter  how  Gains¬ 
borough  showed  us  Royalty,  on  Fanny  Burney’s 
canvas  there  appears  the  picture  of  Jean  Arnolfini 
and  his  wife. 

For  one  to  appreciate  exactly  the  value  of  the 
Diary  kept  by  her  during  the  five  years  of  her  attend¬ 
ance  upon  the  Queen,  one  must  get  to  know  some¬ 
thing  of  Fanny  Burney.  Unless  one  starts  with  a 
knowledge  of  a  biographer,  one  must  fail  to  come  to 
a  reasonable  conclusion  as  to  the  value  of  his  work. 
We  know  nothing  of  the  value  of  Boswell’s  Life  of 
Johnson  unless  we  learn  all  that  his  associates  can  tell 
us  respecting  Boswell  ;  and  when  we  do  so,  we  know 
exactly  what  his  records  are  worth  ;  and  until  we  have 
learned  what  Byron  thought  of  Moore,  we  cannot 
fully  appreciate  Moore’s  Life  of  Byron.  It  may  also 
be  said  with  due  solemnity  that  we  never  estimated  at 
its  true  value  a  recent  voluminous  Life  of  Christ  until 
the  author  made  public  his  bitter  grievance  against 
the  firm  who  issued  it,  for  having  greatly  underpaid 
him — a  grievance  which  he  quite  failed  to  substan¬ 
tiate.  With  as  great  brevity  as  we  think  consistent 


12 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


with  our  intention  of  enabling  a  reader  to  judge  of  the 
capacity  of  Fanny  Burney  to  put  together  a  record 
that  should  be  accepted  as  worthy  of  a  high  place  in 
the  literature  of  Royalty,  we  shall  refer  to  her  life  and 
achievements  up  to  the  time  of  her  receiving  the 
appointment  of  Second  Keeper  of  the  Robes  to  Queen 
Charlotte.  We  have  ventured  to  express  our  own 
opinion  on  this  subject,  but  our  readers  may  not 
think  that  it  is  justifiable  by  facts.  All  such  con¬ 
clusions  must  be  regarded  as  matters  of  individual 
opinion.  If  we  have  an  uneasy  impression  that  Fanny 
Burney’s  refraining  from  any  but  the  most  enthusiastic 
comments  upon  the  domestic  life  of  the  Queen  was 
due  more  to  her  own  blind  loyalty  to  the  tradition  that 
every  act  of  Her  Majesty  was  bound  to  be  majestic, 
than  to  any  habitual  graciousness  on  the  part  of  the 
Royal  lady — if  we  feel  inclined  to  smile  at  her  count¬ 
less  references  to  “  the  dear  Queen  ”  and  at  her  con¬ 
stant  hints  that  she  knew  her  own  place — if  we  are 
now  and  again  irritated  at  her  assuming  that  she  was, 
like  the  dust  of  the  earth,  to  lie  beneath  the  feet  of  the 
Queen  and  so  to  allow  Her  Majesty  to  go  more  softly 
on  her  way,  the  value  of  her  records  does  not  seem  to 
us  to  be  lessened  thereby.  It  is,  however,  only  when 
we  have  come  to  know  Fanny  Burney  that  we  instinc¬ 
tively  “write  off,”  as  it  were,  the  requisite  amount 
from  her  eulogies  of  every  form  of  Royalty  in  order  to 
arrive  at  a  just  conclusion  as  to  the  character  and 
personal  traits  of  Queen  Charlotte  and  her  spouse. 
But  when  we  have  made  these  deductions  we  cannot 
but  feel  that  the  picture  that  remains  upon  our  mind  is 


INTRODUCTORY 


13 


both  interesting  and  valuable.  To  be  sure,  the  impres¬ 
sion  that  we  retain  is  that  of  a  picture  of  two  tabby- 
cats  sitting  by  the  domestic  hearth,  although  the 
painter  fondly  believed  that  she  was  depicting  the 
king  of  beasts  and  his  queen  grandly  standing  among 
the  palms  under  the  blaze  of  a  tropical  sun  ;  but  that 
is  an  unimportant  detail. 

Like  so  many  great  artists,  Fanny  Burney  worked 
under  certain  self-imposed  restrictions.  She  never 
let  herself  go,  so  to  speak,  in  referring  to  her 
Royalties.  She  writes  as  if  the  Queen  were  always 
looking  over  her  shoulder.  She  writes  in  a  decorous 
whisper  which  we  are  sure  was  her  speaking  voice 
when  in  the  presence  of  her  mistress.  She  writes 
with  constant  tact  and  with  uniform  discretion.  There 
are  a  good  many  people  who  seem  to  believe  that 
to  write  of  indiscretions  at  all  is  indiscreet,  but  there 
are  still  more  who  seem  to  think  that  all  Court  history 
is  but  a  catalogue  of  indiscretions.  Certainly,  if  from 
the  most  widely  read  Court  annals  of  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries,  whether  relating  to  France 
or  England,  the  pages  relating  to  the  indiscretions 
of  the  chief  personages  were  to  be  eliminated,  there 
would  be  little  left  to  read.  There  was  no  lack 
of  material  for  a  voluminous  chronicle  of  scandals 
within  the  Palace  circle  when  various  members  of  the 
Royal  Family  of  both  sexes  had  come  to  their  years 
of  indiscretion,  but  Fanny  Burney,  even  if  such 
materials  had  been  within  her  reach,  would  never 
have  made  use  of  them.  She  was  “  too  much  the 
lady  ”  to  do  so — the  phrase  of  the  servants’  hall 


14 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


seems  to  us  to  define  exactly  her  attitude  when  sitting 
down  to  post  up  her  journals  for  the  benefit  of  her 
father  and  sisters.  A  good  deal  that  would  have 
formed  the  basis  of  a  piquant  page  or  two  must 
have  come  under  her  notice,  but  she  does  not  even 
go  so  far  as  to  hold  up  her  fan  before  her  face,  so 
to  speak,  in  any  part  of  her  Court  Diary  ;  she  does 
not  even  give  us  a  sly  look  while  shaking  her  head 
with  the  feather  end  of  her  pen  upon  her  lips — the 
literary  attitude  of  some  of  the  French  compilers  of 
their  Chroniques  Scandaleuses.  She  was  “  too  much 
the  lady.”  The  furthest  that  she  goes  in  this  direc¬ 
tion  is  when  she  writes  in  a  whisper  of  Madame  de 
Genlis  and  her  own  consultations  with  the  Queen 
on  the  advisability  of  keeping  the  animated  French¬ 
woman  at  a  distance.  The  consequence  is  that  on 
every  page  we  get  a  picture  of  a  domestic  hearth 
that  is  pleasant  to  the  eyes  and  good  to  see  ;  and 
we  feel  that  even  if  she  had  continued  of  the  House¬ 
hold  during  the  years  when  some  of  the  Princesses 
were  giving  their  parents  cause  for  a  great  deal  of  un¬ 
easiness,  she  would  have  ignored  their  imprudences 
with  the  pen  of  prudence,  if  not  with  the  pen  of  a 
prude.  There  have  been  people  who,  on  account 
of  her  reticence  on  such  points  as  these,  on  which 
people  would  like  to  be  fully  informed,  laughed  at 
her  as  a  prude  ;  but  we  must  confess  that  we  have 
never  felt  shocked  by  her  prudery,  as  we  have  been 
by  that  of  many  of  the  “  lady-writers  ”  who  came  into 
existence  fifty  years  later.  She  wrote  naturally, 
pleasantly,  and  sincerely,  and  she  makes  herself 


INTRODUCTORY 


15 


beloved  by  reason  of  her  effort  to  make  us  love  the 
Royal  Family. 

But  in  dealing  with  the  one  supreme  episode  that 
broke  in  on  the  monotony  of  her  five  years’  servitude 
with  terrible  disorder,  Fanny  Burney  gives  us  a 
vivid  chapter  of  as  valuable  history  as  was  ever 
written  by  man  or  woman.  Her  account  of  the  first 
approach  and  the  progress  of  the  malady  from  which 
George  III.  suffered  seems  to  us  to  be  as  fine  a 
piece  of  work  of  its  kind  as  was  ever  done.  It  is 
not  merely  pictorial,  it  is  human.  The  same  subject, 
the  madness  of  a  king,  was  dealt  with  by  the 
imagination  of  the  Master  of  all  tragic  writing. 

When  Shakespeare’s  King  Lear  cries  out,  “  Ay, 
every  inch  a  King !  ”  Fanny  Burney’s  cries,  “  Ay, 
every  inch  a  Man !  ”  Of  course,  any  comparison 
between  King  Lear  and  King  George  would  be 
ludicrous ;  but  there  are  such  human  touches  in 

Fanny  Burney’s  narrative  as  make  us  feel  that  she 
had  the  genius  of  observation  if  not  of  imagina¬ 
tion.  If  the  years  of  her  servitude  at  Court  had 
produced  nothing  beyond  this  part  of  her  Diary,  we 
should  still  feel  disposed  to  regard  with  leniency  the 
decision  of  her  father  to  allow  her  to  remain  in  attend¬ 
ance  upon  the  Queen  for  so  long  a  period  instead 

of  keeping  her  within  the  delightful  circle  of  their 

friends  at  his  house  in  St.  Martin’s  Street. 

Dr.  Burney  has  been  from  time  to  time  not  merely 
censured  but  absolutely  abused  for  the  part  he  played 
in  this  transaction,  and  never  more  severely  than  by 
Lord  Macaulay.  But  Macaulay  should  have  been 


16 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


the  last  man  in  the  world  just  at  that  moment  to  say 
a  word  against  Dr.  Burney,  for  he  had  before  him 
the  brilliant  fruits  of  Dr.  Burney’s  persistence — he 
was  making  the  Diary  the  excuse  for  his  essay  ;  and 
for  any  man  with  such  evidence  before  him  of  Fanny 
Burney’s  having  made  good  use  of  her  time  during 
these  years,  to  rail  against  her  father  for  having  given 
her  the  chance  (of  which  she  availed  herself  to  the 
full)  of  producing  the  invaluable  part  of  her  valuable 
work,  was  surely  as  absurd  as  it  was  unjust.  Fanny 
Burney  undoubtedly  suffered  a  good  deal  when  sent 
from  the  midst  of  the  interesting  circle  in  St.  Martin’s 
Street  to  attend  upon  a  Queen  who  was  only  made 
interesting  by  the  literary  skill  of  Fanny  Burney. 
But  one  might  have  thought  that  Macaulay  would, 
in  such  a  case,  have  assumed  the  attitude  of  the 
unbiassed  critic  and  acknowledged  that  the  tangible 
results  of  her  servitude  more  than  justified  the  father’s 
sacrifice  of  his  daughter.  That  is  certainly  the  view 
of  the  transaction  that  is  taken  by  modern  readers. 
When  we  have  brought  before  us  nowadays,  either 
through  the  medium  of  a  book  or,  more  likely,  of  the 
five  miles  of  films  on  a  cinematograph,  the  sufferings 
of  Arctic  explorers,  do  we  find  ourselves  ready 
to  bring  a  railing  accusation  against  the  people  who 
financed  the  expedition  ?  Not  as  a  rule.  We  un¬ 
consciously  put  the  results  in  the  scale  against  the 
sufferings  and  feel  that  the  former  far  outweigh  the 
latter.  Macaulay  assumed — quite  unjustifiably,  but 
that  does  not  matter — that  her  five  years  with  the 
Queen  were  equivalent  to  a  penal  sentence  ;  but  even 


INTRODUCTORY 


17 


if  it  had  been  so,  and  the  outcome  of  her  imprison¬ 
ment  was  the  Diary,  we  should  not  feel  greatly  in¬ 
censed  against  her  father.  We  do  not  feel  greatly 
incensed  against  the  enemies  of  the  author  of  Le  Mie 
Prigioni  for  giving  him  an  opportunity  of  writing  his 
affecting  book  ;  and  we  are  cynical  enough  to  bless 
the  persecutors  of  The  Prisoner  of  Chillon,  since  his 
sufferings  gave  Byron  a  chance  of  writing  his  poem. 
We  do  not  think  that  Dr.  Burney  behaved  even  in¬ 
considerately  to  his  daughter  when  we  know  that, 
had  he  kept  her  at  home,  we  should  have  remained 
without  that  most  interesting  record  of  her  years  at 
Court.  Macaulay  assumes,  though  all  the  facts  are 
against  him,  that,  if  she  had  remained  at  home,  she 
would  have  written  another  novel  as  good  as  Evelina 
or  Cecilia.  But  even  admitting  that  he  had  some 
grounds  for  such  an  assumption,  will  any  one  say  that 
the  Diary  was  not  more  than  an  equivalent  of  either, 
or  both,  of  these  works  ? 

What,  however,  are  the  actual  facts  of  the 
case  ?  Fanny  Burney  wrote  Evelina.  Four  years 
after  the  marvellous  success  of  this  book,  she 
produced  Cecilia.  Four  years  later  she  retired  from 
the  brilliant  world  in  which  she  lived  into  the 
obscurity  of  the  palace — the  Palace  Wardrobe — and 
there  she  remained  for  five  years.  Immediately 
after  her  release  did  she  make  any  move  that 
would  bear  to  be  regarded  as  justifying  Macaulay’s 
assumption  that  she  was  prevented  from  writing 
another  novel  by  reason  of  her  being  absorbed  by 
her  duties  to  the  Queen  ?  Did  she,  the  moment  she 

3 


18 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


obtained  her  release  from  that  servitude,  pick  up  her 
pen  and  produce  the  work  which  her  fingers  were 
itching  to  write?  Not  she.  She  allowed  another 
five  years  to  pass  before  writing  her  novel  Camilla , 
and  then  she  did  not  write  it  because  she  felt  upon 
her  the  impulse  of  a  woman  of  genius,  but  simply 
because  she  found  herself  in  great  need  of  some 
ready  money  !  It  was  easy  for  Macaulay  to  ignore 
the  fact  that,  of  the  fourteen  years  which  elapsed 
between  the  publication  of  Cecilia  and  that  of  Camilla , 
only  five  were  spent  in  the  Queen’s  service.  Surely 
any  born  novelist  might  contrive,  without  running  a 
chance  of  imperilling  by  undue  haste  a  well-earned 
reputation,  by  dint  of  hard,  but  not  over-hard  work, 
to  produce  more  than  one  romance  within  a  space 
of  nine  years  ?  Many  ladies  who  are  not  born  novelists 
have  succeeded  in  surpassing  this  task  without  actual 
physical  suffering. 

And  then  as  regards  the  money  part  of  the  question 
— a  part  which  Macaulay  does  not  fail  to  emphasise 
in  his  own  trenchant  style — it  will  be  found,  we 
think,  if  we  turn  from  flourishes  to  facts,  that  Fanny 
Burney  did  very  well  for  herself  by  her  connection 
with  the  Royal  Robes.  She  received  the  equivalent 
of  at  least  ,£3,500  of  our  money  for  the  five  years  of 
her  service,  and  on  her  retirement  she  was  granted  a 
pension  of  ^100  a  year,  equal  at  a  moderate  estimate 
to  ,£250  of  our  money,  and  this  pension  she  drew 
for  forty-nine  years !  So  that  in  cash  her  servitude 
represented  in  all  the  sum  of  .£15,750  of  our  money 
— far  more  than  the  aggregate  earnings  of  all  her 


INTRODUCTORY 


19 


literary  work !  A  good  many  young  women,  even 
though  brought  up  in  the  midst  of  such  a  brilliant 
entourage  as  that  of  St.  Martin’s  Street,  would  be 
glad  to  absent  themselves  from  its  felicity  a  while 
for  such  a  remuneration. 

And  these  calculations,  it  must  be  remembered, 
involve  no  consideration  of  the  question  of  the  value 
of  the  Court  Diary,  either  by  itself  or  in  comparison 
with  the  imaginative  works  of  the  author ;  but  they 
have  an  intimate  connection  with  what  Fanny  Burney 
herself  probably  considered  a  very  important  incident 
in  her  life — namely,  her  marriage  with  the  exiled 
French  General,  Alexandre  d’Arblay.  It  was  not 
upon  the  strength  of  a  possible  income  arising 
from  the  writing  of  further  novels  that  she  and  M. 
d’Arblay  set  up  housekeeping,  but  on  the  strength 
of  that  pension  which  was  granted  to  her  by  the 
generous  appreciation  of  her  services  by  the  King 
and  Queen. 

On  the  whole,  then,  we  are  very  much  inclined  to 
think  that  Dr.  Burney  was  not  so  greatly  to  blame 
as  some  critics  insist  on  our  believing  he  was  for  the 
part  he  played  in  the  transaction.  At  any  rate, 
readers  of  the  Diary  dealing  with  this  five-years 
period  would  be  ungrateful  if  they  were  to  say  a 
word  against  him.  The  only  people  who  might 
have  been  justified  in  shaking  their  heads  were  those 
who  had  seen  his  daughter  previous  to  her  accepting 
her  appointment  and  then  on  her  retirement.  She 
had  indeed  changed  greatly — so  greatly  indeed  as 
to  be  barely  recognisable  by  those  of  her  friends  from 


20 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


whom  she  had  been  parted  all  this  time,  and  who 
believed  that  they  had  been  deprived  of  the  delight 
of  receiving  another  brilliant  novel  through  her 
absence  at  the  Court.  These  people,  not  knowing,  as 
she  herself  did,  that  (to  make  use  of  an  expressive 
colloquialism)  “  it  was  not  in  her  ”  to  write  another 
novel  worthy  of  being  placed  alongside  Evelina  and 
Cecilia — and  not  knowing  (as  we  do)  that  in  her 
Diary  was  the  material  for  a  far  more  interesting 
work  than  any  novel  that  had  come  from  her  pen — 
might  have  been  pardoned  for  saying  a  hard  word 
or  two  regarding  Dr.  Burney,  and  for  forgetting 
that  it  is  between  the  ages  of  thirty-four  and  thirty- 
nine  that  the  marks  of  the  inexorable  hand  become 
most  evident  on  the  face  of  a  woman  of  the 
temperament  of  his  daughter.  But  for  us  who  have 
before  us  all  the  facts  of  her  life — who  have  learned 
by  the  sad  example  of  Camilla  that  she  had  done 
her  best  imaginative  work  before  she  went  to  Court 
— who  have  seen  how  happy  she  was  with  her 
husband  and  son — who  know  that  her  health  was  not 
so  seriously  impaired  by  her  labours  at  the  Palace 
as  to  prevent  her  from  surviving  them  for  half  a 
century — who,  finally,  have  read  with  delight  the 
pages  of  her  Diary — for  us,  we  repeat,  to  say  a 
word  against  Dr.  Burney  for  having  allowed  his 
daughter  to  enter  the  service  of  the  Queen  would  be 
as  ungrateful  as  it  would  be  unjust.  Macaulay  was 
as  wrong  in  his  judgment  on  this  point  as  he  was,  and 
as  most  other  professors  of  the  picturesque  in  litera¬ 
ture  are,  on  many  other  matters  of  greater  moment. 


INTRODUCTORY 


21 


The  question  as  to  whether  or  not  Dr.  Burney 
saw  clearly  the  splendid  possibilities  of  a  Diary  kept 
(for  the  first  time)  by  a  young  woman  of  genuine 
literary  ability  and  extraordinary  powers  of  observa¬ 
tion,  coming  into  daily — almost  hourly — contact  with 
a  Queen,  has  not  been  considered  by  any  writer  on 
the  literature  of  the  eighteenth  century.  But  it 
seems  to  us  to  be  one  that  is  worth  consideration. 
Dr.  Burney  must  have  been  aware  of  the  charm  and 
of  the  judgment  with  which  the  early  Diary  of  his 
daughter  was  written,  though  we  are  pretty  sure 
that  the  MS.  was  not  treated  as  the  letters  of  the 
absent  ones  in  India  or  China  or  Africa  are  treated 
nowadays  when  they  arrive  at  their  destinations,  and, 
after  being  read  by  the  “addressee,”  are  posted 
round  the  full  family  circle.  We  are  pretty  sure  that 
the  shy  girl  never  allowed  this  record  of  her  daily 
life  to  be  available  to  all  the  members  of  the  household. 
But  to  fancy  that  it  could  remain  absolutely  hidden 
from  all  eyes  would  be  difficult,  considering  the 
composition  of  the  household.  There  would  most 
likely  be  an  exchange  of  confidences  on  this  matter 
between  Fanny  and  her  elder  sister,  who  also  kept 
a  Diary  ;  and  assuredly  their  stepmother,  who  had  her 
own  views  respecting  the  exact  position  of  the  line 
that  divided  what  was  ladylike  from  what  was  literary, 
would  have  a  word  to  say  to  her  husband  as  to  the 
desirability  of  young  girls  writing  up  a  Diary.  But 
when  Evelina  came  to  be  published  and  to  keep 
statesmen  out  of  their  beds  at  night  reading  it — when 
every  one  in  the  Burneys’  London  was  talking  about 


22 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


it,  and  it  was  revealed  to  Dr.  Burney  that  his 
daughter  was  the  most  popular  novelist  in  England, 
he  would  certainly  make  inquiries  as  to  any  other 
books  of  manuscript  she  might  have  by  her,  and  she 
would  try  to  atone  for  her  want  of  frankness  in 
regard  to  Evelina  by  placing  before  him  every  page 
that  she  had  in  her  desk.  There  was  nothing  in  the 
Diary  that  he  was  not  welcome  to  read,  and  if  he 
glanced  at  anything,  he  could  not  but  have  been 
struck  by  the  admirable  qualities  of  her  daily  jottings. 

This,  to  be  sure,  is  nothing  more  than  a  chain 
of  conjectures ;  but  is  the  breaking  strain  of  the 
weakest  link  reached  by  a  consideration  of  reasonable 
probabilities  in  this  connection?  It  certainly  is  not. 
We  are  permitted  to  have  a  thorough  acquaintance 
with  all  the  members  of  the  Burney  family,  and  we 
know  that  they  did  not  differ  from  the  corresponding 
members  of  an  ordinary  family  of  dutiful  children 
living  on  the  best  of  terms  with  their  discriminating 
and  affectionate  parents.  Dr.  Burney  had  a  reputa¬ 
tion  for  appreciating  his  chances  of  getting  on  in 
life  ;  and  can  any  one  believe  that  such  a  man  would 
fail  to  perceive  that,  in  entering  the  Queen’s  service, 
his  daughter  would  have  such  a  chance  of  producing 
a  chronicle  of  the  Court  as  had  not  fallen  to  the  lot  of 
any  young  woman  so  highly  qualified  for  the  work 
as  was  his  daughter  Fanny  ?  Horace  Walpole  was 
astute,  but  not  more  so  than  Burney,  and  he  saw 
what  a  chance  she  would  have,  and  expressed  his 
regret  that  he  should  not  be  alive  long  enough  to  be 
able  to  see  what  use  she  had  made  of  her  oppor- 


INTRODUCTORY 


23 


tunities.  We  are  convinced  that  the  careful  and 
far-seeing  father  urged  upon  his  daughter  that  it 
was  her  duty  not  to  be  prying  into  the  affairs  of  the 
King  and  Queen,  but  to  make  a  point  of  noting 
all  that  she  saw.  What  we  know  of  Fanny  Burney 
leads  us  to  believe  that,  without  such  an  injunction 
from  her  father,  she  would  have  assumed  that  to 
keep  a  record  of  all  that  came  under  her  notice  would 
be  not  only  the  grossest  presumption  on  her  part, 
but  a  breach  of  confidence  of  the  meanest  sort:  she 
would  feel  that  she  was  thereby  putting  herself  in  the 
position  of  a  spy  upon  the  Royal  pair  whose  gracious 
bounty  she  was  enjoying.  Little  Miss  Burney  was 
extremely  sensitive  on  such  points,  and  it  would  need 
the  exercise  of  some  tact  on  her  father’s  part  to  con¬ 
vince  her  that  her  duty  lay  in  seeing  all  she  could  see 
and  recording  all  that  she  saw — for  the  benefit  of 
himself  and  her  sisters,  he  would  be  tactful  enough 
to  say  :  he  would  not  say  a  word  about  the  public 
or  about  posterity.  He  may  have  been  urged  by 
Walpole  to  show  his  daughter  in  what  direction  her 
duty  lay  ;  but  we  do  not  think  that  it  was  necessary 
for  Walpole  or  any  one  else  to  give  him  a  hint  on 
this  matter. 

If  we  have  dwelt  at  too  great  length  upon  an 
apparently  trivial  point,  our  excuse  must  be  our 
desire  to  do  a  tardy  act  of  justice  to  an  admirable 
man,  whom  it  has  been  the  fashion  to  abuse  since  a 
professor  of  the  picturesque  in  literary  style  found  it 
necessary  to  use  him  as  the  low  lights  in  carrying  out 
the  scheme  of  chiaroscuro  in  his  picture.  The  piebald 


24 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


picturesqueness  of  Lord  Macaulay  has  much  to 
answer  for.  In  any  case,  it  must  be  acknowledged 
that  we  owe  to  Dr.  Burney  the  existence  of  a  unique 
record  of  the  intimate  life  of  a  King  and  Queen  of 
England  at  an  interesting,  not  to  say  a  critical, 
period  ;  and  if  we  failed  to  acknowledge  our  indebted¬ 
ness  to  him,  we  should  be  both  mean  and  ungrateful. 


HER  BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE 


CHAPTER  II 


HER  BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE 

IT  will  only  be  necessary  for  our  purpose  in  this 
book  to  give  such  an  account  of  the  life  of  Fanny 
Burney  up  to  the  time  of  her  entering  the  service  of 
the  Queen  as  may  help  a  reader  to  form  a  correct 
estimate  of  her  position  in  the  world  of  men  and 
women,  as  well  as  in  the  world  of  letters,  in  the  year 
1786,  when  she  was  thirty-four  years  of  age,  having 
been  born  on  June  13,  1752.  She  was  one  of 
the  few  distinguished  persons  about  whom  little  is 
known  that  is  not  happy.  She  was  the  fortunate 
daughter  of  a  fortunate  man — of  a  man  who  was  an 
artist  without  having  so  much  of  an  artistic  tempera¬ 
ment  as  interfered  with  his  living  a  comfortable  life — 
an  exemplary  husband,  a  devoted  father,  and  a  faithful 
friend.  The  home  of  which  he  was  the  head  was  a 
happy  one,  because  a  simple  one,  and  because  he  was 
blest  with  a  well-regulated  mind,  undisturbed  by  that 
unbalancing  element  known  as  genius.  He  was  a 
musician  of  great  ability  and  a  teacher  of  music  of 
great  industry.  He  was  a  distinguished  man  without 
having  become  so  by  the  production  of  any  work  of 
distinction,  and  he  mixed  on  the  friendliest  terms  with 

some  of  the  most  notable  men  in  England  and  enter- 

27 


l- 


28 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


tained  in  his  very  modest  house  some  of  the  most 
notable  foreign  visitors.  When  one  is  made  aware 
of  the  position  in  the  world  of  some  of  his  friends, 
English  as  well  as  foreign,  and  with  his  own  achieve¬ 
ments,  we  are  led  to  wonder  how  it  was  they  were 
attracted  to  his  house.  If  he  had  been  a  second 
Handel,  or  Purcell,  or  Mozart,  or  Haydn  we  could 
understand  it,  though  we  might  be  pretty  sure  that 
his  house  would  not  have  been  so  uniformly  comfort¬ 
able  as  it  was,  nor  would  he  himself  have  been  so 
uniformly  agreeable  as  a  host ;  and,  for  want  of  a 
more  scientific  explanation,  we  must  assume  that  he 
was  in  himself  a  delightful  man.  The  impression 
that  is  conveyed  to  us  by  all  that  has  been  written 
about  him  by  his  contemporaries  is  that  he  possessed 
so  much  tact  as  made  him  appear  a  delightful  man  to 
every  one  with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  He  had  a 
thoroughly  happy  life,  having  apparently  exercised  his 
gift  of  tact  upon  himself,  explaining  to  himself,  without 
hurting  his  feelings  or  turning  himself  into  a  misan¬ 
thrope,  that  he  would  do  well  for  the  sake  of  attain¬ 
ing  domestic  happiness  to  lay  aside  any  high  artistic 
aspirations  that  he  may  have  had  in  starting  life.  Few 
men  engaged  in  the  pursuit  of  any  form  of  art  are  able 
to  remain  on  good  terms  with  themselves — and  their 
wives — on  coming  to  such  a  decision  ;  but  Dr.  Burney 
had  the  power  of  the  man  of  talent  to  shape  his  own 
life  in  the  direction  of  happiness.  He  was  not  the 
man  of  genius  who  is  under  the  control  only  of  a 
power  that  ignores  happiness  as  the  object  of  life. 

His  father,  whose  name  was  James  MacBurney, 


HER  BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE 


29 


had  been  the  heir  to  the  family  estates — said  to  be 
of  considerable  extent — in  Shropshire,  but  having  dis¬ 
graced  himself  by  taking  to  himself  a  wife  who  had 
been  an  actress,  his  father — a  widower — punished  him 
for  sinking  so  low  matrimonially  by  sinking  himself 
to  a  deeper  depth  still  in  the  same  direction,  marry¬ 
ing  one  of  his  own  servants.  She  bore  him  a  son. 
to  whom  he  left  all  his  estate,  and  who  became 
penniless  before  his  elder  brother  had  christened  his 
twenty-first  and  twenty-second  children — twins,  one 
of  them  a  girl,  whom  he  called  Susannah,  the  other 
a  boy,  Charles,  who  became  the  father  of  Fanny 
Burney.  The  dropping  of  the  Celtic  prefix  was 
not  the  act  of  his  branch  of  the  family  only.  It 
appears  that  the  whole  clan  MacBurney  found  it  more 
convenient  to  write  themselves  Burney,  and  agreed 
to  do  so.  There  may  have  been  a  MacBurney  who 
disgraced  himself  in  a  more  flagrant  way  than  by  a 
misalliance,  and  the  others  considered  it  due  to  them¬ 
selves  to  disown  the  connection  by  the  breaking  away 
of  an  insignificant  link. 

Charles  Burney  was  only  following  the  example 
of  his  eldest  stepbrother,  who  must  have  been  nearly 
thirty  years  his  senior,  in  showing  not  merely  a  taste 
for  music,  but  a  certain  amount  of  executive  skill  as 
well.  His  brother  had  a  good  post  as  organist  at  St. 
Mary’s,  Shrewsbury,  and  with  great  kindness  he  got 
the  celebrated  Dr.  Arne  to  take  the  boy  as  an  articled 
pupil.  For  three  years  at  the  house  of  Arne’s  beautiful 
sister,  Mrs.  Cibber,  young  Burney  learned  a  few  of 
the  rudiments  of  his  profession,  and  laid  the  founda- 


30 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


tion  for  a  number  of  friendships  with  some  of  the 
many  notable  people  who  were  on  intimate  terms 
with  the  musician  and  his  sister.  Then  it  was  that 
he  was  fortunate  enough  (from  one  standpoint)  to- 
become  acquainted  with  Fulke  Greville,  a  man  of  good 
family,  good  estates,  and  good  taste  ;  and  so  greatly 
interested  did  this  gentleman  become  in  the  articled 
pupil  that  he  proposed  to  take  him  back  with  him 
to  his  place  in  the  country  so  that  they  might 
study  music  together.  Dr.  Arne,  however,  had 
found  his  articled  pupil  so  useful  to  him — though 
in  what  way  we  can  only  guess — that  he  refused  to 
cancel  his  indentures  except  on  payment  of  ^300. 
This  was  nothing  to  a  gentleman  of  wealth  with  a 
taste  for  music.  The  money  was  paid,  and  Charles 
Burney,  confident  even  at  that  early  age  that  his  tact 
would  enable  him  to  live  on  good  terms  with  such 
a  patron,  left  the  interesting  house  of  Mrs.  Cibber 
and  her  brother,  and  accepted  the  rather  indefinite 
situation  which  had  been  offered  to  him.  We  do  not 
doubt  that  his  sagacity  in  making  this  change  was 
justified,  though  we  must  confess  that  such  a  record 
in  connection  with  any  one  else  would  seem  to  be  a 
proof  of  the  greatest  folly.  To  give  up  the  chance 
of  perfecting  himself  in  his  profession  under  the  in- 
struction  of  so  able  a  man  as  Arne,  only  to  become 
the  companion  of  a  wealthy  dilettante,  would  strike 
a  good  many  people  as  being  a  hazardous  experi¬ 
ment.  It  would  be  impossible  to  say,  however,  that 
it  was  not  successful.  It  gave  Charles  Burney  an 
opportunity  of  enlarging  his  circle  of  friends  so  as 


HER  BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE 


31 


to  include  a  clientele  more  influential  and  more  re¬ 
munerative  than  Dr.  Arne  himself  could  obtain. 

But  this  is  only  the  professional  aspect  of  the 
experiment ;  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  artistic. 
Perhaps  a  few  years  more  of  study  by  the  side  of  his 
master  would  have  made  all  the  difference  in  the  world 
between  the  position  which  he  occupies  to-day  in  the 
list  of  English  musicians  and  that  which  he  would 
occupy  if  he  had  put  in  the  full  term  of  his  appren¬ 
ticeship.  To  be  sure,  if  a  man  has  it  in  him  to 
become  a  great  artist,  he  will  become  a  great  artist 
in  spite  of  everything.  Burney  may  not  have  been 
capable  of  taking  his  place  among  those  masters  of 
musical  expression,  Purcell,  Haydn,  or  Bach,  but  he 
might,  if  he  had  remained  with  Arne,  and  learned  all 
that  Arne  could  teach  him,  have  produced  as  im¬ 
mortal  an  anthem  as  “  Rule,  Britannia !  ” 

As  it  was,  he  learned  the  manners  and  customs 
of  high  life,  and  this  form  of  learning  he  assimilated 
easily,  and  never  more  were  they  separated  from 
his  life  ;  he  acquired  that  mysterious  element  known 
as  ton ,  and  this  was  a  very  important  branch  of  learn¬ 
ing  in  the  eighteenth  century.  While  living  with 
Fulke  Greville  and  his  friends  he  learned  all  that  was 
needed  to  qualify  him  for  mixing  on  equal  terms  with 
what  is  called  “the  best  society”;  he  also  studied 
the  best  means  of  establishing  a  clientele  of  a  highly 
remunerative  character — he  may  even  have  studied 
a  little  music  when  he  had  time  ;  but  that  was  all. 
He  acquired  the  manners  of  a  person  of  quality,  and 
became  qualified  to  be  an  excellent  teacher  of  music 


32 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


and  an  excellent  historian  of  music,  but  never  a  great 
musician. 

It  was  probably  because  he  learned  his  lesson  of 
high  life  so  intelligently  that  he  refrained  from  marry¬ 
ing  among  its  altitudes.  He  married  Esther,  the 
daughter  of  a  worthless  nonentity  named  Sleepe.  He 
had  met  the  lady,  not  through  his  patron  or  any  of 
his  patron’s  friends,  but  at  the  house  of  his  brother 
Richard,  in  Hatton  Garden  ;  and  she  had  no  portion. 
She  had,  however,  some  reputable  relations  in  the 
City,  and  as  he  obtained  the  post  of  organist  at  a  City 
church,  he  at  once  set  about  earning  an  income  as 
a  music-teacher.  A  man  with  so  many  admirable 
qualities  as  brought  him  hosts  of  friends  of  the  culti¬ 
vated  class,  which  alone  is  worth  cultivating,  could 
not  but  be  successful.  Of  course,  his  friend  Greville 
— their  friendship  had  not  suffered  by  reason  of  that 
divider  of  old  friendships,  marriage,  and  Greville,  too, 
had  married — recommended  him  to  influential  clients, 
and  soon  Burney  was  prospering.  Unhappily,  how¬ 
ever,  his  health  broke  down.  The  doctors  ordered 
him  away  from  London  without  delay,  and  the  quarter 
to  which  he  went  was  determined  by  the  fact  of  there 
being  a  church  in  Lynn  in  need  of  an  organist.  He 
applied  for  the  post,  got  it,  and  settled  in  that  town 
in  1751,  a  year  before  the  birth  of  his  second 
daughter,  who  was  christened  Frances.  He  had 
already  a  son,  James,  and  a  daughter,  Esther,  so  that 
it  looked  as  if  the  family  tradition  of  increase  was 
about  to  be  followed.  The  three  children  that  were 
born  to  the  Burneys  before  the  third  year  of  their 


HER  BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE 


33 


married  life  had  come  to  an  end  were  followed  by 
three  others  before  the  husband’s  health  had  improved 
so  greatly  that  he  was  able  to  return  to  London. 

He  was  for  nine  years  at  Lynn,  and  success 
pursued  him  there  as  it  had  done  in  London.  His 
manner  made  him  welcome  at  all  the  best  houses  in 
the  neighbourhood,  and  so  extensive  was  his  practice 
that  he  was  obliged  to  keep  a  horse  to  carry  him  to 
give  lessons  far  and  wide.  A  person  cannot  fail  who  has 
all  the  qualities  that  make  for  success.  The  man  who 
could  utilise  the  time  spent  in  the  saddle  in  the  transla¬ 
tion  of  Metastasio  by  the  aid  of  a  dictionary  was  not 
the  man  to  fail  in  any  enterprise  to  which  he  addressed 
himself.  He  contemplated  writing  his  History  of 
Music  even  in  those  days,  and  began  collecting 
material  for  this  achievement  from  all  sources,  perfect¬ 
ing  himself  in  several  languages  while  traversing  the 
Norfolk  highways. 

But  he  was  not  neglecting  the  higher  aims  of  his  art : 
he  composed  several  church  pieces  of  great  merit, 
and  an  Ode  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day — a  favourite  exer¬ 
cise  among  eighteenth-century  musicians.  It  was 
the  success  of  this  particular  composition  when 
performed  at  Ranelagh  that  caused  him  to  make  up 
his  mind  to  run  the  chances  of  a  relapse  from  the 
good  health  which  he  enjoyed  at  Lynn  by  returning 
to  London.  He  took  this  step  in  1760,  having  been, 
as  we  have  said,  in  Norfolk  for  nine  years.  It  is 
interesting  to  know  that  his  eldest  son,  James,  had 
for  some  years  the  benefit  of  education  at  the  free 
school  of  Lynn,  at  which  one  of  the  masters  was 

4 


34 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


Eugene  Aram,  the  brilliant  philologist  who  was 
executed  for  the  murder  of  a  man  named  Clarke.  It 
is  well  known  that  a  novel  was  written  around  this 
hero  by  Bulwer  Lytton  during  the  period  of  the 
apotheosis  of  interesting  criminals  by  some  English 
novelists,  who  made  themselves  the  exponents  of 
sentimental  immorality.  But  the  story  formed  the 
subject  of  a  poem  by  Thomas  Hood,  in  whose  verses 
a  subtle  psychological  vein  more  than  redeems  the 
melodramatic  effects.  It  is  quite  possible  that  Hood 
wrote  this  masterpiece  of  the  lurid  in  verse  after 
hearing  James  Burney — he  was  then  a  retired 
Admiral — give  some  reminiscences  of  his  deceased 
master.  Burney  mingled  a  good  deal  in  a  literary 
set  in  his  old  age,  and  Charles  Lamb  referred  to 
him  in  one  of  his  essays.  Hood  did  so  as  well 
in  a  note  to  “  The  Dream,”  so  it  is  possible  that  he 
meant  him  to  be  the  original  of  the  “gentle  boy” 
who  was  made  the  unwilling  confidant  of  the  usher. 
It  would  be  interesting  to  know  if  the  old  Admiral 
confessed  to  having  read  Gesner’s  Death  of  Abel  in 
his  youth.  The  book  was  published  and  obtained  an 
extraordinary  amount  of  popularity  in  England  in 
1758,  the  year  when  Burney  was  under  Eugene 
Aram  and  the  year  of  the  arrest  of  the  latter.  How¬ 
ever  this  may  be,  we  do  not  think  that  attention  has 
yet  been  called  to  the  exactitude  of  the  poet’s 
chronology  in  this  respect. 

On  the  return  of  the  Burney  family  to  London 
they  settled  in  Poland  Street — a  locality  well  chosen 
as  a  centre  by  a  fashionable  teacher  of  music.  With- 


HER  BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE 


35 


out  widening  his  circle  by  more  than  a  street  or  two, 
he  might  have  taught  in  some  of  the  greatest  houses. 
Not  so  far  from  Dr.  Burney’s  own  house  stood  a 
ducal  mansion  as  well  as  the  town  houses  of  some 
peers  of  lesser  degree ;  but  it  would  seem  as  if  the 
carpets  had  scarcely  time  to  be  laid  down  before  he 
was  in  attendance  upon  people  sufficiently  far  away 
to  make  it  necessary  for  him  to  pass  the  greater  part 
of  the  day  in  hackney  coaches.  His  reputation  as 
a  teacher  of  music  was  as  wide  as  that  of  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  as  a  painter  of  portraits,  the  result  being 
the  same  in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other.  Reynolds’s 
diaries  let  us  know  how  enormous  was  the  pressure 
upon  his  time  by  his  numerous  sitters,  but  Burney 
does  not  seem  to  have  had  time  even  to  keep  a 
diary.  He  was  engaged  from  morning  to  night 
within  a  year  after  his  return  to  London,  and  his 
good  wife  was  left  to  look  after  the  five  children  that 
remained  at  home — James,  the  eldest  son,  had  already 
become  a  midshipman  in  the  Royal  Navy,  and  shortly 
afterward  was  appointed  to  serve  under  Lieutenant 
Cook  on  those  adventurous  voyages  to  the  South 
Seas  which  for  many  years  remained  traced  upon  all 
terrestrial  globes  as  well  as  school  atlases. 

All  the  children,  with  the  notable  exception  of 
Fanny,  showed  considerable  aptitude  for  learning. 
All  were  bright,  intelligent,  and  attractive — the  eldest 
daughter  especially  on  account  of  her  musical  talent. 
Before  she  was  ten  she  played  the  harpsichord  with 
the  skill  of  an  artist,  and  a  little  later  her  sister 
Susan  was  able  to  join  her  in  duets  when  the  “  forte- 


36 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


piano  ”  took  the  place  of  the  older  instrument. 
Fanny  was  the  only  one  in  the  household  who  did 
nothing  but — observe.  At  eight  she  did  not  even 
know  her  letters,  and  though  as  a  matter  of  course 
she  was  teased  by  the  others,  neither  her  father  nor 
her  mother  thought  it  necessary  to  urge  her  on, 
though  the  former  made  some  attempt  to  cure  her  of 
that  shyness  of  manner  with  which  she  was  afflicted. 
He  was  not  so  successful  in  this  as  he  was  in  other 
undertakings.  She  remained  diffident  almost  to  a 
morbid  degree  until  the  end  of  her  life.  The  truth 
appears  to  be  that  he  was  so  busily  occupied  from 
hour  to  hour  that  he  had  little  time  for  studying  the 
temperaments  of  his  children  ;  and  it  never  occurred 
to  him  that  there  might  be  possibilities  of  good 
results  following  the  silent  observation  of  the  girl 
who  sat  apart  from  the  others  and  seemed  longing 
for  a  chance  to  escape  from  the  room  where  they  were 
displaying  their  varied  talents. 

And  if  this  is  true  about  the  father — if  he  was  too 
busy  to  be  able  to  study  Fanny — assuredly  it  may  be 
equally  true  that  she  was  too  busily  occupied  observ¬ 
ing  everybody  to  have  time  for  any  other  employment. 
She  was  dumb  because  she  was  listening  to  all  that 
was  being  said  around  her.  She  was  shy  because 
it  gave  her  greater  satisfaction  to  listen  to  others  and 
draw  her  own  conclusions  from  their  talk  than  to 
take  part  in  it.  And  so  she  remained — and  we  have 
to  be  thankful  for  it — an  observer  of  extraordinary 
power — a  chronicler  of  character  as  penetrating  as 
any  that  ever  lived — a  recorder  of  the  sayings  of 


HER  BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE 


37 


others  with  that  consummate  skill  which  enables  us 
to  appreciate  the  exact  inflection  of  their  phrases. 
This  is  what  she  was,  and  all  unconsciously  she  was 
training  from  her  childhood  up  to  her  womanhood 
for  the  place  she  was  to  hold  in  the  literature  of  her 
country. 


A  PLEASANT  HOUSEHOLD 


CHAPTER  III 


A  PLEASANT  HOUSEHOLD 

MRS.  BURNEY  died  the  year  after  the  return  of 
the  family  to  London.  The  blow  must  have 
been  a  terrible  one  to  her  husband,  for,  being  an  emi¬ 
nently  practical  man,  he  could  not  but  ask  himself  what 
was  to  be  done  with  the  five  children,  the  eldest  of  them 
only  ten  years  of  age,  who  had  been  wholly  dependent 
upon  their  mother  in  all  matters  of  their  daily  life.  It 
would  be  impossible  for  him,  he  knew,  at  that  stage 
of  his  career,  to  withdraw  from  those  engagements  by 
which  he  earned  bread  for  his  children  and  to  devote 
himself  to  their  up-bringing.  But  if  the  fact  of  his 
being  a  practical  man  made  him  estimate  the  force 
of  his  bereavement  more  clearly  than  a  sentimentalist 
would  have  done,  it  also  prevented  him  from  being 
bewildered  by  the  problem  which  was  forced  upon 
him.  He  seems  to  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  management  of  the  household  by  the  confidential 
servant  who  had  been  with  his  wife  to  the  last  would 
be  sufficient  for  the  comfort  of  all  for  the  time 
being,  for  we  do  not  hear  that  he  engaged  either  a 
housekeeper  or  a  governess.  He  had  many  good 
friends  with  wives,  and  some  of  them  were  very  kind 
to  the  children  during  the  long  daily  absence  of  their 

41 


42 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


father.  Among  the  best  of  these  were  the  Garricks. 
There  was  nothing  that  the  great  actor  enjoyed  more 
than  entertainingchildren,  and  at  the  Burneys’  house 
he  had  a  chance  of  indulging  his  fancy  to  the  top 
of  his  bent.  Such  fooling  went  on  in  the  Burneys’ 
rooms  as  the  world  has  never  known — the  fooling  of 
the  greatest  genius  that  ever  played  upon  the  emo¬ 
tions  of  men,  women,  and  children  at  his  will.  He 
was  probably  the  greatest  farceur  that  ever  lived, 
and  he  was  certainly  the  one  whose  genius  was  as 
apparent  in  his  farce  as  it  was  in  his  tragedy.  He 
could  do  anything  he  pleased  with  the  people  who 
were  before  him  ;  their  emotions  were  in  his  keeping 
for  the  time  being.  Just  as  he  had  the  men  who 
regarded  Johnson  with  a  veneration  that  was  given 
to  no  other  man  of  the  century  in  paroxysms  of 
laughter  at  his  imitation  of  their  idol,  until  between 
their  gasps  they  implored  him  to  leave  off,  so  for  the 
Burney  girls  he  made  such  fun  as  they  remembered 
so  long  as  they  lived.  And  of  the  delicate  duet  of 
comedy  with  his  charming  wife  there  is  no  need  to 
look  for  a  description  in  any  literary  work  extant. 
Hogarth’s  picture  showing  Garrick  at  his  desk,  his 
pen  uplifted  while  he  waits  for  the  inspiration  of  a 
thought,  and  his  wife  stealing  behind  him,  making  a 
motion  of  infinite  grace  to  catch  the  quill,  gives  us 
a  scene  of  such  exquisite  comedy  as  could  not  be 
conveyed  to  us  by  dialogue. 

It  is  quite  possible  that  some  of  Burney’s  friends 
believed  that  he  was  to  blame  for  not  placing  the 
education  of  his  children  in  competent  hands — that  is, 


j>' 


( 


A  PLEASANT  HOUSEHOLD 


43 


in  conventional  hands — immediately  after  the  death  of 
their  mother.  Not  knowing  all  that  we  do  regarding 
at  least  one  of  the  girls,  such  people  might  have  been 
justified  in  their  blame  ;  but  in  our  mind  there  can 
be  little  doubt  that  the  distinction  which  Fanny 
Burney  gained  as  a  writer  so  early  in  her  life  was 
largely  due  to  the  influence  of  the  Garricks.  It  was 
not  by  reason  of  her  literary  style  that  she  won  fame 
— it  would  be  nearer  the  truth  to  say  that  it  was 
her  assumption  of  a  literary  style  that  well-nigh 
neutralised  the  fame  that  she  had  won.  No  ;  it  was 
in  her  appreciation  of  comedy,  of  character,  and  of 
situations  that  her  power  lay,  and  we  are  convinced 
that,  whatever  her  original  bent  may  have  been, 
it  was  the  influence  of  the  Garricks  that  was  re¬ 
sponsible  for  the  development  of  her  powers.  The 
greatest  of  actors  have  lamented  the  transient  effect 
of  their  art,  taking  it  for  granted  that  when  they  have 
made  audiences  laugh  or  weep  that  is  the  end  of  all — - 
that  no  permanent  evidence  of  their  art  survives  them. 
We  believe  that  they  are  wrong  in  their  assumption. 
The  influence  of  a  great  actor — a  vivid  interpreter 
of  passions  of  life  and  the  emotions  of  men  and 
women,  and  the  tragedy  as  well  as  the  comedy  of 
humanity — is  so  far-reaching  that  the  end  of  it  all  is 
not  in  sight.  Not  only  does  he  influence  materially 
workers  in  sister  arts,  suggesting  subtle  phases  of 
character  and  psychology  of  which  even  the  dramatist 
himself  was  unconscious,  but  he  also  influences  the 
audiences  of  his  epoch,  preparing  them  for  the  appre¬ 
ciation  of  the  work  of  those  artists,  literary  and 


44 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


pictorial,  who  have  come  under  the  spell  that  a  vivid 
interpretation  of  some  phase  of  feeling  or  thought 
weaves  about  an  intellectual  mind. 

No  opportunity  was  lost  by  Fanny  Burney  at  the 
most  receptive  period  of  her  life  of  witnessing  the 
incomparable  art  of  David  Garrick ;  for  when  he 
came  to  the  house  in  Poland  Street,  and  afterward  to 
that  in  St.  Martin’s  Street,  for  an  hour’s  sublime  fool¬ 
ing  with  the  children,  he  usually  brought  with  him  an 
invitation  to  his  wife’s  box  for  the  evening  perform¬ 
ance  ;  and,  knowing  what  an  observer  was  Fanny, 
it  may  be  taken  for  granted  that,  between  the  private 
and  the  public  performances  of  Garrick,  she  obtained 
such  a  grounding  in  the  elements  of  comedy  as  stood 
her  in  good  stead  when  she  began  to  write.  It  is  on 
record  that,  on  returning  from  the  theatre  where 
Garrick  had  been  playing,  she  was  accustomed  to 
invent  new  speeches  for  the  characters,  and  deliver 
them  after  the  manner  of  the  great  actor.  A  better 
training  for  an  aspiring  novelist  could  not  be  imagined. 

And  thus  it  was  that  Fanny  Burney,  the  backward 
child  of  a  forward  family,  was  educating  herself  so 
as  to  be  on  a  level  with  her  brilliant  sisters,  who 
jingled  out  their  duets  on  the  harpsichord  for  a  year 
or  two,  and  then  were  heard  of  no  more  except  as 
the  mothers  of  children  and  as  the  sisters  of  the 
author  of  Evelina . 

She  had  need  to  educate  herself,  for  her  father 
showed  no  particular  haste  in  undertaking  such  a 
duty  in  regard  to  her.  When  it  came  to  a  question, 
a  few  years  later,  of  two  of  the  girls  going  to  school 


A  PLEASANT  HOUSEHOLD 


45 


in  France,  it  was  Esther  and  Susannah  who  were 
so  favoured.  It  has  been  seriously  suggested  by  a 
biographer  that  Burney — whose  wife,  though  descended 
from  an  exiled  Huguenot  family,  was  a  Roman 
Catholic — feared  that  the  girl  had  leanings  toward 
that  faith,  so  that  when  she  found  herself  in  Catholic 
France  she  might  feel  herself  constrained  to  join  the 
Church  of  the  country.  We  cannot  for  ourselves 
believe  for  a  moment  that  he  had  any  fears  for  Fanny 
that  he  might  not  have  entertained  quite  as  reason¬ 
ably  in  respect  of  the  other  girls.  We  feel  that  the 
truth  is  that  he  regarded  Fanny  as  the  dull  one  of 
the  family,  and  he  believed  that  the  money  which  her 
schooling  would  cost  him  would  be  very  much  better 
spent  upon  the  brilliant  girls  than  upon  the  dull  one. 

We  fear  that  there  is  no  denying  the  fact  that 
Burney  had  no  belief  in  the  ability  of  Fanny,  though 
in  later  years  he  followed  the  example  of  so  many 
fathers  of  sons  and  daughters  who  have  developed 
into  geniuses,  in  recalling  imaginary  premonitions  of 
their  early  promise.  He  was  able,  with  the  accommo¬ 
dating  memories  of  such  persons,  to  recollect  several 
incidents  of  her  tender  youth  that  convinced  him  that 
she  was  going  to  turn  out  an  astonishment  to  the 
whole  circle.  He  certainly  acted  so  as  to  increase 
the  force  of  the  astonishment  when  it  should  come 
about.  For  it  would  be  hard  to  deny  that  if  a  young 
woman,  from  whom  are  withheld  the  most  ordinary 
methods  of  learning  to  read  and  write,  leaps  into  fame 
as  a  writer,  she  astonishes  her  friends  more  than  she 
would  if  she  had  been  allowed  the  means  of  acquiring 


46 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


these  accomplishments.  He  said  a  long  time  after¬ 
ward  that  he  knew  her  “  natural  simplicity  ”  made 
her  independent  of  any  teaching.  It  would  require 
a  plentiful  supply  of  this  quality  on  the  part  of  his 
confidants  to  enable  them  to  accept  such  an  explana¬ 
tion  of  behaving  as  if  he  regarded  Fanny  as  a  dunce. 

But  her  education  was  in  safe  hands.  The  Garricks 
had  begun  it  by  stimulating  her  imagination,  and  it 
did  not  take  long  for  her  to  perceive  that  if  she  meant 
to  do  justice  to  the  new  dialogue  she  was  inventing 
for  the  characters  she  had  seen  represented  on  the  stage, 
it  would  be  absolutely  necessary  for  her  to  learn  to 
read  and  write.  She  had  overcome  the  difficulties 
incidental  to  both  reading  and  writing  by  the  time  she 
was  eleven,  but  she  was  really  composing  in  prose 
and  verse  before  she  could  write.  She  had  devised 
a  scheme  of  hieroglyphics  which  served  her  purpose 
very  well,  and  preserved  the  secrets  which  they 
embodied  much  more  efficiently  than  Mr.  Pepys’s 
shorthand  did  his  confessions.  When  she  was  able 
to  read,  she  spent  most  of  her  spare  time  in  her 
fathers  library  ;  but  the  evidence  of  all  that  she 
did  in  that  room  tends  to  the  belief  that  she  read 
the  books,  not  for  the  pleasure  that  they  gave  her, 
but  for  the  sake  of  criticising  them.  Not  of  her  may 
it  be  said,  as  it  is  of  so  many  writers  who  have 
enriched  their  country’s  literature,  that  the  library 
door  was  the  entrance  to  a  new  world — a  world  of 
wonder  and  delight.  She  was  not  a  great  lover 
of  books,  even  when  she  had  taught  herself  to  read, 
and  although  she  read  a  good  deal,  she  never 


A  PLEASANT  HOUSEHOLD 


47 


acquired  the  reading  “habit.”  In  her  day  there 
was  no  encouragement  for  girls  to  read  ;  the  tendency 
of  their  parents  or  guardians  was  in  the  other  direc¬ 
tion,  and  the  other  direction  was  termed  industry. 
Plain  sewing,  running  and  felling,  herring-boning, 
darning — these  were  the  simpler  forms  of  industry  ; 
the  higher  accomplishments  were  tambour  work,  the 
making  of  paper  flowers,  and  the  working  of  figures 
in  silk  on  canvas,  the  heads  being  afterward  painted 
on  paper  and  stuck  upon  the  waiting  worked  shoulders 
with  paste.  Girls  were  not  encouraged  to  improve 
their  minds  ;  they  were  encouraged  only  to  become 
adroit  sempstresses. 

Fanny  Burney  may  have  been  a  good  needle¬ 
woman  ;  she  never  was  a  good  reader.  But  really, 
considering  the  amount  which  we  hear  she  wrote 
between  her  twelfth  and  fifteenth  year,  we  cannot  see 
that  she  had  much  time  to  waste  over  tucks  and  hems. 
She  seems  to  have  scribbled  at  every  available 
moment  during  these  years,  poems,  novels,  and  plays 
of  a  sort,  as  well  as  letters  and  confidential  notes  meant 
for  her  own  perusal.  And  this  fact  makes  all  the 
more  remarkable  the  meagreness  of  her  literary 
4t  output  ”  after  her  first  novel  attained  an  extra¬ 
ordinary  success.  We  wonder  if  there  is  any  other 
instance  on  record  of  a  writer’s  working  incessantly 
and  in  various  channels  until  one  effort  meets  with 
marvellous  success,  and  then  not  producing  anything 
for  four  years,  and,  after  a  second  success,  nothing 
more  for  twelve.  Certainly  there  is  nothing  more 
remarkable  in  literature  than  the  passion  for  writing 


48 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


which  this  girl  had  at  an  early  age  and  the  apparent 
distaste  she  had  for  it  just  when  she  was  of  an  age 
when  most  writers  are  at  their  best. 

But  if  her  father  took  a  very  easy  view  of  his 
duties  in  regard  to  her  early  education,  she  was 
fortunate  in  finding  a  substitute,  whose  influence 
upon  her  was  at  all  times  greater  than  that  of 
her  father.  This  was  a  gentleman  named  Samuel 
Crisp,  who  from  being  at  one  time  a  frequenter 
of  the  fashionable  coffee-houses,  as  well  as  of  the 
mansions  of  some  of  the  most  conspicuous  members 
of  the  peerage,  had  chosen  to  live  the  life  of  a  recluse 
at  an  almost  inaccessible  house  known  as  Chessing- 
ton  Hall.  He  had  been  a  friend  of  Fulke  Greville, 
and  had  been  a  guest  at  his  house  in  the  country 
when  Burney  was  Greville’s  musical  companion. 
Meeting  Burney  by  accident  in  London  shortly  after 
the  death  of  Mrs.  Burney,  he  was  invited  to  the  house 
in  Poland  Street,  and  making  the  acquaintance  of  the 
little  girls,  was  quite  fascinated  by  their  charm,  and 
established  himself  on  such  a  friendly  footing  with 
them  that  they  called  him  their  “other  daddy.”  It 
was  certainly  Fanny  to  whom  he  became  the  most 
attached,  and  the  departure  of  her  two  sisters  for 
France,  shortly  after  their  affection  had  ripened  into 
the  “daddy”  stage,  left  on  her  the  responsibility  of 
maintaining  the  friendship  on  this  basis.  Thus  began 
an  association  of  the  greatest  importance  to  the  girl, 
and,  incidentally,  to  English  literature,  for  beyond 
a  doubt  it  was  Crisp’s  influence  that  caused  the  im¬ 
pressionable  girl  to  concentrate  her  literary  ambitions, 


A  PLEASANT  HOUSEHOLD 


49 


and  instead  of  dissipating  her  energies  in  the  form  of 
plays  that  were  not  plays  and  verses  that  were  not 
poetry,  to  shape  her  ideas  into  the  form  of  a  story,  the 
result  being  Evelina.  It  was  also  through  Crisp  that 
she  became  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Delany,  and  it  will 
be  seen  in  due  course  that  this  was  only  a  single  step 
from  her  appointment  to  which  the  world  owes  the 
Diary  of  the  five  years  spent  with  Queen  Charlotte. 
The  world  is  certainly  indebted  to  Mr.  Crisp. 

His  story  did  not  need  to  be  garbled  by  Macaulay 
to  interest  every  one  who  is  interested  in  Fanny 
Burney.  He  was  a  man  of  sufficient  fortune  to 
mingle  on  easy  terms  with  Fulke  Greville  and  his 
fashionable  friends ;  and,  like  Greville  and  Wal¬ 
pole,  he  had  an  artistic  bent.  All  gentlemen  of 
quality  in  those  days  were  not  the  rough  uncultured 
wine-bibbers  that  one  would  suppose  them  to  be 
from  the  frequency  of  the  appearance  of  this  parti¬ 
cular  type  in  the  fiction  and  plays  of  the  period. 
A  good  many  were  not  only  patrons  of  art  and 
artists,  but  amateurs  themselves  in  some  branches 
of  art.  Music  was  Greville’s  hobby,  the  stage  in  its 
higher  range  was  Crisp’s  as  well  as  Cradock’s,  the 
“country  gentleman”  referred  to  by  Walpole,  who 
made  more  than  one  respectable  failure  in  drama, 
twenty  years  after  Crisp  had  made  his  first  and  only 
failure  with  a  blank-verse  tragedy  on  the  story  of 
Virginia,  which  Garrick  was  persuaded  to  produce  on 
the  representation  of  some  of  the  author’s  highly 
titled  friends.  The  tragedy  was  a  moderate  failure  in 
spite  of  its  distinguished  sponsors,  and  Macaulay  tried 

5 


50 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


to  make  out — he  may  actually  have  believed  it  him¬ 
self,  though  this  consideration  would  not  weigh  much 
with  Macaulay — that  the  author  incorporated  the 
tragedy  of  the  failure  into  his  own  life — that  because 
the  world  had  shown  that  it  did  not  want  his  play, 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  show  that  he  did  not  want 
the  world.  But  the  truth  is  that  Crisp  did  not 
renounce  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  a  world  that 
failed  to  see  the  merit  of  his  blank  verse  until  he 
had  better  grounds  for  such  a  renunciation.  What¬ 
ever  chagrin  he  may  have  felt  when  Garrick  assured 
him  that  the  verdict  pronounced  upon  his  play  was 
not  likely  to  be  reversed  by  any  tinkering  at  it,  it 
did  not  prevent  him  from  setting  out  on  a  tour 
through  Italy,  to  collect  works  of  art  for  a  villa 
at  Hampton  which  he  had  chosen  as  a  residence. 
He  remained  in  Italy  for  a  considerable  time,  and  on 
returning  to  England,  completed  the  artistic  furnishing 
of  his  home,  and  set  about  entertaining  his  friends 
as  if  no  tragedy  had  ever  interrupted  the  course  of 
his  life.  Possibly,  not  half  a  dozen  of  his  friends 
remembered  against  him  so  venial  an  indiscretion 
as  the  production  of  Virginia.  What  brought  about 
the  change  in  his  life  was  the  real  tragedy  of  life — 
the  building  of  a  house  without  first  counting  the 
cost.  He  found  that  he  had  been  a  spendthrift  on 
his  villa  and  in  his  mode  of  life  as  a  man  of  fashion  ; 
and  he  had  got  nothing  in  return  but  an  attack  of 
gout.  He  found  it  necessary  to  retrench  before  it 
should  be  too  late,  so  he  joined  his  misfortunes  with 
those  of  a  friend  named  Hamilton,  at  the  secluded 


A  PLEASANT  HOUSEHOLD 


51 


Chessington  Hall,  a  homestead  whose  history  closely 
resembled  that  of  its  owners:  from  brilliant  beginnings 
it  had  declined  to  the  humble  status  of  a  farm-house. 
It  had,  however,  one  qualification  as  a  residence  for 
any  one  anxious  to  retrench — it  was,  as  we  have  said, 
practically  inaccessible. 

Here  Samuel  Crisp  lived  for  several  years,  and 
here  he  constantly  had  as  visitors  Dr.  Burney  and 
the  members  of  his  family.  He  liked  them  all,  but 
beyond  a  doubt  it  was  to  Fanny  he  was  most 
attached. 

She  alluded  to  him  sometimes  as  her  second 
daddy  :  she  might  have  called  him  her  first,  without 
making  her  father  jealous ;  for  it  is  certain  that 
Burney  perceived  from  the  first  how  advantageous 
for  the  girl  was  the  assumption  of  paternal  duties 
by  his  friend.  Crisp  did  everything  for  her  that 
her  father  might  have  done  (with  less  judgment)  if 
his  pupils  had  not  been  so  persistent  in  demanding 
his  attention,  and  if  his  devotion  to  the  History 
of  Music ,  which  he  was  writing,  had  not  devoured 
every  hour  that  his  teaching  had  spared,  after  the 
manner  of  the  locusts  and  the  survivals  of  the  hail 
in  the  record  of  the  Plagues  of  Egypt. 

Crisp  wrote  long  letters  to  her,  and  encouraged 
her  to  reply  to  them  in  full.  He  had  seen  far  more  of 
the  world  than  had  her  father,  and  he  was  a  far  closer 
critic  of  life  and  character,  of  literature  and  art.  He 
had  never  made  tact  and  geniality  the  basis  of  his 
scheme  of  living,  or  he  might  have  been  assuccess- 
ful  as  Burney ;  but  the  most  genial  critics  are  not 


52 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


invariably  the  most  valuable,  and  assuredly  Fanny 
learned  more  from  Crisp  than  she  ever  did  from 
her  father,  and  no  one  would  have  been  more  ready 
to  acknowledge  this,  and  much  more,  than  her 
father  himself.  He  encouraged  the  affection  between 
the  two,  knowing  perfectly  well  how  valuable  the 
influence  of  Crisp  was  to  a  girl  of  her  temperament. 
It  is  pretty  plain  that  her  diffidence — her  malady  of 
shyness — was  regarded  by  all  the  members  of  her 
family  as  a  terrible  handicap  to  her  success  in  life — 
their  idea  of  success  in  life  not  going  beyond  the 
reasonable  entertainment  of  their  visitors — and  Burney 
must  have  been  more  hopeful  of  her  when  he  found 
her  attracting  the  attention  of  such  a  man  as  Crisp. 
He  cannot  but  have  felt  that  under  the  influence  of 
Crisp  she  would  be  “  taken  out  of  herself,”  and  lose 
that  self-consciousness  which  is  the  origin  of  some 
types  of  morbid  bashfulness,  especially  on  the  part 
of  girls.  He  may  even  have  been  led  to  believe 
that  she  might  eventually  become  as  clever  as  her 
sisters. 


FEELING  HER  WAY 


CHAPTER  IV 


FEELING  HER  WAY 

FANNY  BURNEY  had  from  the  first  a  thorough 
belief  in  the  wisdom  of  her  “  Daddy  Crisp,”  and 
his  bearing  toward  her  at  all  times  fully  justified  this 
confidence.  He  was  never  didactic  in  his  attitude, 
and  he  never  wasted  his  time  in  giving  her  that  form 
of  advice  which  was  available  to  her  in  the  headlines 
of  every  copybook.  When  she  asked  him  for  his 
counsel  on  any  matter  on  which  she  was  in  doubt,  he 
satisfied  her,  and  gave  her  the  reasons  for  his  con¬ 
clusions.  He  could  do  so,  having  taught  her  to 
appreciate  the  value  of  such  reasons.  He  encouraged 
her  to  write  naturally,  and  the  success  of  his  efforts  in 
this  direction  is  made  apparent  in  all  her  letters  to 
him.  Never  were  there  more  spontaneous  or  more 
natural  letters  written  by  a  girl  even  to  her  own  sisters. 
The  “  daddyship  ”  of  Crisp  was  sufficiently  fictitious 
to  allow  of  her  writing  to  him  without  the  least  strain¬ 
ing  after  that  filial  pose  which  was  considered  in  keep¬ 
ing  with  propriety  wThen  a  girl  was  addressing  her 
father  —an  affectation  easily  leading  to  the  cultivation  of 
hypocrisy — which  is  observable  in  so  many  letters  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  and  to  a  far  greater  degree  in 
those  of  the  mid-nineteenth,  when  the  cultivation  of 

55 


56 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


hypocrisy  was  the  most  important  item  in  the  cur¬ 
riculum  of  the  “  seminary  for  young  ladies,”  and  when 
its  appearance  in  the  sentiments  of  a  young  lady’s 
letter  to  her  parents  convinced  them  that  they  were 
getting  good  value  for  their  money.  In  all  that 
Fanny  Burney  wrote  to  Crisp  there  is  no  suggestion 
of  the  governess  looking  over  her  shoulder.  But 
when  Crisp  was  dead,  the  novel  that  she  produced 
suggested  that  Dr.  Johnson,  the  governesses’  model 
in  style,  was  not  only  looking  over  her  shoulder, 
but  holding  her  pen. 

It  needed  all  Crisp’s  influence  to  save  the  girl  from 
forming  a  style  that  would  be  a  “  rubbing”  upon  her 
father’s.  We  may  be  right  or  wrong  in  this  matter, 
but  it  certainly  seems  to  us  that  it  was  he  who  so 
saved  her  to  write  Evelina ,  and  the  Diary  and  the 
Letters  ;  but  Camilla ,  the  Memoir  of  Dr.  Burney , 
and,  indeed,  all  that  she  wrote  for  publication  after 
the  death  of  her  friend,  prove  that  the  utmost  he 
could  do  was  to  avert,  for  a  time,  the  danger  which 
he  knew  threatened  her.  The  best  of  all  literary 
styles  is  that  which  is  no  style  at  all,  and  this  Fanny 
Burney  maintained  in  her  correspondence  with  Crisp 
and  throughout  the  greater  part  of  her  Diary. 

In  writing  to  her  father  when  she  had  entered  the 
Queen’s  service,  on  the  subject  of  the  Diary-Letters, 
she  remarked,  very  pertinently,  by  way  of  excusing 
their  naturalness,  that  “  these  kind  of  compositions 
lose  all  their  spirit  if  they  are  too  scrupulously  cor¬ 
rected.”  We  know  that  this  was  something  she  had 
learned  from  Crisp  in  the  course  of  their  correspond- 


FEELING  HER  WAY 


57 


ence  :  she  certainly  would  never  have  learned  it  from 
her  father.  The  excellence  of  Crisp’s  advice  may  be 
gauged  from  his  remarks  on  the  subject  of  writing  a 
comedy.  Never  more  clearly  were  the  differences 
between  the  exercise  of  the  spirit  of  comedy  through 
the  medium  of  a  novel  and  through  the  medium  of  a 
play  described.  When  he  wrote,  Fanny  had  just 
published  Evelina ,  and  it  seemed  that  all  England 
was  talking  about  that  performance.  But  quite  a 
number  of  her  friends  were  urging  on  her  to  set  about 
writing  a  play,  and  she  told  Crisp  of  this.  At  once  he 
gave  her  within  fifty  lines  the  most  complete  rtsumt 
that  could  be  imagined  of  the  art  of  play-writing  as 
differing  from  the  art  of  novel-writing.  If  all  novelists 
who  hope  to  become  playwrights  would  read  his  letter, 
there  would  be  fewer  failures  on  their  part  to  achieve 
their  end  with  distinction. 

But  it  was  not  Fanny  only  who  found  Mr.  Crisp’s 
friendship  extremely  helpful.  Six  years  after  the 
death  of  his  wife  Esther,  Burney  married  a  second 
time.  There  is  no  reason  to  believe  that  he  found 
that  his  house  was  not  being  properly  managed,  or 
that  he  had  not  confidence  in  his  own  ability  to  look 
after  his  daughters,  even  when  they  had  left  school. 
He  made  no  excuse  for  an  act  that  needed  none  ;  but 
on  the  other  hand  he  did  not  make  a  fuss  about  its 
accomplishment.  He  married  very  quietly — in  fact, 
it  would  bear  to  be  termed  secretly — the  widow  of 
a  man  whom  he  had  known  at  Lynn,  named  Allen, 
but  having  confided  in  Crisp,  he  went  with  his  wife  for 
a  short  honeymoon  to  a  farm-house,  taken  for  them 


58 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


by  his  friend  and  confidant,  within  easy  walking  dis¬ 
tance  from  Chessington. 

How  long  it  was  intended  that  the  secret  should  be 
kept,  or  what  reason  there  was  for  keeping  it  at  all, 
we  do  not  know,  for  it  does  not  appear  that  either  the 
young  Allens — of  whom  there  were  several — or  the 
young  Burneys  were  otherwise  than  pleased  at  the 
incident,  when  it  was  made  known  to  them  and  their 
friends.  Fanny  and  her  sisters  welcomed  their  step¬ 
mother  when  she  was  brought  to  the  Poland  Street 
house,  and  they  had  every  reason  for  doing  so.  She 
was  a  fully-trained  wife  and  mother,  and  it  is  certain 
that  her  arrival  was  of  great  use  to  them  in  every  way, 
as  she  was  just  the  sensible,  clear-headed  woman  that 
a  family  of  clever  girls  need  for  their  head. 

Fanny  was  at  this  time  on  the  verge  of  sixteen,  and 
she  had  maintained  her  love  of  writing,  which  began, 
as  has  been  said,  several  years  earlier.  She  had 
started  her  Diary,  and  she  had  been  accustomed  to 
retire  from  the  plain  sewing  of  the  parlour  to  the 
writing-desk  of  the  garret  at  every  opportunity,  there 
to  spend  her  time  composing  scenes  of  stories,  pathetic 
as  well  as  humorous,  for  the  entertainment  of  her 
sister  Susan.  Only  in  this  sister  did  she  confide ; 
and  until  the  coming  of  the  new  mother,  no  one  in  the 
house  seems  to  have  minded  how  she  was  amusing 
herself  upstairs.  But,  of  course,  such  a  secret  could 
not  escape  the  observing  eyes  of  the  new  inmate  of 
the  house,  and  when  Mrs.  Burney  learned  that  she 
was  writing  both  in  Poland  Street  and  also  in  a 
summer-house  at  the  residence  at  King’s  Lynn  in- 


FEELING  HER  WAY 


59 


herited  by  Mrs.  Burney  from  her  late  husband,  she 
thought  it  time  to  interfere  before  the  habit  should 
get  such  a  hold  upon  the  girl  as  to  make  it  impossible 
for  her  to  throw  it  off.  She  tried  to  keep  her  fully 
employed  in  other  matters,  or  to  effect  a  compromise 
in  regard  to  literary  work  by  getting  her  to  transcribe 
the  hundreds  of  pages  of  notes  which  Burney  had 
amassed  in  view  of  the  publication  of  his  magnum  opus. 

Good  Mrs.  Burney  had  her  own  ideas  respecting 
the  writing  of  fiction  by  young  women  of  sixteen,  or 
indeed  by  any  woman,  young  or  old,  and  these  views 
did  not  differ  materially  from  those  which  were  held 
(with  good  reason)  by  all  sensible  parents  in  her  day. 
A  novel  was  reckoned  a  disgraceful  thing,  and  it 
usually  was.  Success  alone  could  make  novel-writing 
something  to  be  proud  of,  and  Mrs.  Burney  had  no 
reason  to  believe  that  the  girl  who  had  been  com¬ 
mitted  to  her  care  would  find  such  a  passport  to 
purification.  She  had  come  upon  some  of  her  scrib- 
blings  and  was  not  particularly  struck  with  their  merit. 
She  advised — and  the  advice  of  even  the  best  of  step¬ 
mothers  should  be  equivalent  to  a  command — the  girl 
to  burn  all  that  she  had  written,  and  the  girl  records 
that  she  obeyed.  A  bonfire  was  made  of  many  in¬ 
cipient  romances  and  quite  a  number  of  scenes  of 
humour,  pathos,  and  wisdom,  and  we  may  be  pretty 
sure  that  such  a  holocaust  was  not  the  means  of 
depriving  the  world  of  much  that  it  would  not  willingly 
let  go. 

Such  an  act  on  the  part  of  a  young  writer  is  as 
prudent  as  it  is  artistic.  As  a  refining  agency,  a  fire 


60 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


has  for  long  been  held  in  esteem,  and  it  is  especially 
so  in  the  case  of  the  burning  of  one’s  early  efforts  : 
if  there  is  any  precious  metal  among  them,  one  may 
be  assured  that  it  will  survive  a  seven  times  heated 
furnace.  It  was  so  at  any  rate  in  the  case  of  little 
Miss  Burney’s  bonfire  :  among  her  MSS.  had  been 
one  that  set  forth  the  adventures  of  a  young  lady 
named  Caroline  Evelyn,  and  this  was  the  study  in 
charcoal  for  that  finished  work,  Evelina :  A  Young 
Lady  s  Entrance  into  the  World.  Whatever  was 
worth  remembering  in  the  early  story  did  not  leave 
the  mind  of  the  author,  and  by  the  time  the  story 
forced  itself  to  be  written,  so  to  speak,  it  had  become 
a  very  different  thing  from  the  callow  Caroline  Evelyn 
that  had  occupied  her  spare  time  in  the  Poland  Street 
garret  or  the  cabin  summer-house  at  Lynn. 

But  the  maturing  process  took  time,  and  what  with 
the  writing  up  of  the  Diary  and  the  writing  up  of  her 
father’s  notes  for  the  History  of  Music,  to  say  nothing 
of  attending  to  the  many  duties  of  the  household, 
which  included  the  entertaining  of  many  visitors 
of  distinction,  it  can  easily  be  understood  that  little 
Miss  Burney,  the  exhibitor  of  the  auto-da-f6  just 
described,  had  in  her  mind  in  proper  order  every 
character  and  every  incident  in  the  book  she  wrote, 
long  before  a  line  of  it  was  put  on  paper.  Not  for 
some  years  still  had  she  a  chance  of  sitting  down  to 
the  mechanical  part  of  her  work ;  but  in  such  a 
matter,  and  in  the  circumstances  of  such  a  case  as 
hers,  every  day’s  delay  is  a  gain  so  far  as  the  finish 
of  the  work  is  concerned.  She  was,  we  may  take  it 


FEELING  HER  WAY 


61 


for  granted,  overflowing  with  her  cherished  story 
that  had  escaped  the  violence  of  fire,  but  we  do  not 
hear  of  her  complaining  of  the  drudgery  imposed 
upon  her  in  the  household.  She  knew  that  she  had 
not  much  to  complain  of,  and  she  was  never  given 
to  complaining.  She  went  on  transcribing  the 
material  for  the  History  of  Music  until  her  father, 
having  taken  his  degree  of  Doctor  of  Music  at  Oxford 
in  1769,  and  a  new  house — it  was  in  Queen’s  Square, 
Bloomsbury,  and  one  of  its  most  delightful  points 
was  that  the  windows  afforded  a  fine  view  of  the 
northern  hills  of  Highgate  and  Hampstead;  indeed, 
a  contemporary  print  of  Queen’s  Square  suggests 
that  it  was  surrounded  by  mountains — set  off  on  a 
six  months’ tour  through  France  and  Italy  to  “verify 
his  quotations  ”  and  obtain  further  material  to  keep 
his  amanuensis  fully  employed. 

Mrs.  Burney  showed  what  a  good  manager  she 
was  by  taking  advantage  of  her  husband’s  absence  to 
effect  the  removal  from  Poland  Street  to  Queen’s 
Square.  This  was  in  the  year  1770,  when  Fanny 
was  eighteen  and  her  education  completed.  We 
hear  nothing  about  its  ever  having  been  begun,  for, 
after  his  second  marriage,  her  father  seems  to  have 
abandoned  his  intention  of  giving  her  and  her  sister, 
who  had  been  left  at  home,  the  same  advantages  as 
had  been  enjoyed  by  the  two  who  had  been  educated 
in  France,  and  he  did  not  formulate  any  other  scheme 
to  take  its  place,  though  Fanny  was  expected  to 
acquire  a  knowledge  of  French  from  Susan.  Every 
one  knows  what  a  scheme  of  tuition  of  one  sister  by 


62 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


another  of  about  the  same  age  really  amounts  to  ; 
and  it  does  not  appear  that  Fanny  got  more  than 
a  colloquial  smattering  of  the  language  from  Susan. 
The  two  sisters  were  greatly  attached  to  each  other, 
and  they  probably  spoke  a  little  French  together 
when  they  were  alone  ;  but  such  education  as  it  was, 
Fanny  had  to  be  satisfied  with  it,  while  her  sister 
Charlotte  was  sent  off  to  a  fully  qualified  seminary 
at  Lynn. 

Fanny  was  doubtless  quite  satisfied  with  the 
arrangement.  Girls  of  the  age  that  she  had  reached 
are  not  generally  exorbitant  in  their  demands 
for  education.  She  had  no  extraordinary  craving 
after  knowledge  ;  she  never  had  much,  and  she  got 
on  very  well  with  what  she  picked  up.  She  had  all 
through  her  life  a  vast  respect  for  learned  people, 
and  a  large  number  of  them  had  a  vast  respect  for 
her ;  but  she  was  never  otherwise  than  what  would 
be  called  to-day  an  uneducated  young  woman,  by 
such  persons  as  accept  the  curriculum  of  the  school¬ 
room  as  the  criterion  of  education.  More  than  once 
she  found  herself  surrounded  by  the  full  strength 
of  the  blue-stocking  set,  and  she  had  good  reason 
to  feel  terrified.  She  had  a  wider  public  than  any  of 
them,  and  she  was,  as  a  writer,  infinitely  more 
brilliant ;  but  had  the  most  ignorant  of  them  sub¬ 
jected  her  to  the  examination  of  a  class-room,  she 
would  soon  have  betrayed  what  an  excellent  reason 
she  had  for  feeling  terrified  in  such  company.  The 
Queen  was  a  tolerably  ignorant  woman,  but  when 
Miss  Burney,  the  celebrated  writer,  came  into  her 


FEELING  HER  WAY 


63 


presence  nightly,  Her  Majesty  must  have  begun  to 
have  no  small  opinion  of  herself  and  of  her  own 
scholarship.  Now  and  again  the  Diary  gives  us  a 
hint  in  this  direction  ;  the  Queen  wanted  to  talk  with 
her  upon  a  literary  topic  of  which  Fanny  had  never 
so  much  as  heard,  or  about  an  English  poet  of  whose 
poems  she  had  never  read  a  single  line.  Luckily,  Miss 
Burneys  eyesight  was  very  bad,  or  she  might  have 
felt  hurt  at  the  way  the  Royal  eyebrows  must  have 
risen  when  she  heard  that  the  most  popular  English 
writer  had  never  read  the  ballad  of  The  Gaberlunzie 
Man. 

But  whatever  mortifications  she  may  have  been  sub¬ 
jected  to  owing  to  her  defective  reading  and  her  lack 
of  book-learning,  we  do  not  find  that  they  materially 
interfered  with  the  satisfaction  she  had  in  dwelling 
upon  all  that  she  managed  to  achieve  in  spite  of  her 
deficiencies  in  these  directions  ;  and  whatever  twinges 
of  conscience  her  father  may  have  felt  at  his  neglect 
of  her  in  favour  of  his  other  children  were  more  than 
neutralised  by  his  delight  at  her  triumph. 

And  the  hour  of  her  triumph  was  at  hand. 


' 


. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  COMEDY 


CHAPTER  V 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  COMEDY 

DR.  BURNEY  returned  from  his  six  months’  tour 
with  plenty  of  material  for  a  book  which  he 
meant  to  be  quite  independent  of  his  History ;  and  he 
hastened  to  Chessington  to  write.  It  was  only 
natural  that  the  one  in  the  family  who  was  known 
to  have  a  liking  for  scribbling  should  have  pointed 
out  to  her  how  providential  was  the  chance  that  was 
now  before  her  of  exercising  her  genius  in  a  perfectly 
legitimate  channel,  diverting  it  from  the  course  in 
which  it  had  shown  a  tendency  to  flow ;  here  was 
her  chance  of  gratifying  her  ill-ordered  love  for  scrib¬ 
bling — her  father’s  MS.  Clear  copies  of  it  had  to 
be  made,  and  she  was  plainly  the  one  to  make  them. 
She  went  to  Chessington  when  her  father  was  ready 
for  her,  and  these  literary  labours  kept  her  fully 
employed  until  the  book  entitled  The  Present  State 
of  Music  in  France  and  Italy  was  ready  for  the  press. 
It  was  published  in  the  middle  of  June,  1771,  and 
while  his  name  was  still  before  the  booksellers,  he 
produced  a  smaller  work  which  he  also  meant  to  be 
supplementary  to  his  History. 

As  soon  as  his  winter  teaching  was  over  the 
following  year,  he  started  on  a  musical  tour  through 

67 


68 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


Germany  and  the  Netherlands,  remaining  absent 
until  the  December  gales  had  set  in,  making  the 
Channel  crossing  both  hazardous  and  disagreeable. 
He  was  exceptionally  unlucky  in  this  way.  The 
passage  to  England  was  so  bad,  and  he  suffered  so 
greatly  from  its  effects,  that  he  could  not  leave  his 
berth  in  the  cabin,  and  as  the  boat  could  not  be 
delayed  to  await  his  convalescence,  he  was  treated 
on  the  homoeopathic  principle,  and  given  a  similar 
experience  to  counteract  the  effects  of  the  first.  Car¬ 
ried  back  in  a  storm  to  Calais  and  then  once  more 
to  England,  he  was  for  some  months  forced  to  dictate 
to  Fanny — her  sisters  relieving  her  occasionally — the 
remarks  which  he  meant  to  embody  in  a  new  volume. 
But  the  moment  he  was  able  to  travel — by  land — he 
posted  to  Chessington,  taking  Fanny  with  him  to 
complete  the  work. 

By  the  time  they  were  able  to  return  to  London 
Mrs.  Burney,  who  was  undoubtedly  the  masterful 
person  that  she  needed  to  be,  had  purchased  the 
house  which  must  ever  be  associated  with  the  most 
interesting  chapters  of  the  history  of  the  family,  quite 
apart  from  the  History  of  Music.  A  defect  in  the 
title  of  the  Queen’s  Square  house  prevented  the 
family  from  taking  possession  of  it  as  they  intended, 
and  they  must  have  been  rather  disappointed  at  the 
substitute  which  was  offered  to  them.  The  house 
was — and  still  is — in  St.  Martin’s  Street,  a  narrow 
and  inconvenient  lane  on  the  east  side  of  Leicester 
Square.  Its  immediate  surroundings  were  almost 
squalid  ;  and  though  moderately  roomy,  it  was  cer- 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  COMEDY 


69 


tainly  greatly  inferior  to  the  house  in  Poland  Street — 
immeasurably  inferior  to  the  one  in  Queen’s  Square. 
In  the  estimation  of  the  practical  Mrs.  Burney,  how¬ 
ever,  its  situation  as  a  centre  of  the  music-teaching 
industry  far  outweighed  its  lack  of  picturesqueness 
and  the  view  of  the  hills  that  went  with  Queen’s 
Square ;  and  in  the  eyes  of  Dr.  Burney,  the  fact  that 
it  had  once  been  the  residence  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton 
went  far  toward  consecrating  it.  The  tiny  observatory 
still  remained  upon  the  roof.  Burney  was  something 
of  an  astronomer  himself,  and  his  first  wife  had  made 
some  progress  in  the  science — a  good  deal  more  than 
could  be  placed  to  the  credit  of  Fanny,  who,  in  refer¬ 
ring  to  a  pamphlet  on  Comets  written  by  her  mother, 
confused  Halley’s  with  another — so  that  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  he  was  delighted  to  live  in  the  rooms 
that  the  great  Christian  philosopher — that  is  how  Dr. 
Burney  would  have  qualified  the  former  tenant — 
had  once  occupied,  and  he  possibly  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  the  time  had  come  for  him  to  give 
more  attention  to  the  best  paying  side  of  his  profession 
than  he  had  thought  necessary  to  bestow  upon  it 
during  the  previous  two  years. 

The  family  settled  down  in  St.  Martin’s  Street. 
Burney’s  position  in  the  musical  world  was  consoli¬ 
dated  by  his  literary  work  and  by  some  compositions 
of  a  classical  type  which  he  had  produced  since  Oxford 
gave  him  his  degree.  He  was  made  a  Fellow  of  the 
Royal  Society,  and  if  he  could  only  have  become 
Leader  of  the  King’s  Band,  the  summit  of  his  ambi¬ 
tion  would  have  been  reached.  He  had  surrounded 


70  THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 

himself  with  friends,  most  of  them  of  the  highest 
standing.  The  foreign  singers  who  came  to  London 
in  the  opera  season,  whose  acquaintance  he  had 
doubtless  made  on  his  continental  tours,  hastened 
down  the  narrow  entrance  to  St.  Martin’s  Street  and 
sang  to  his  circle  such  songs  as  some  of  the  more 
avaricious  of  them  received  fifty  guineas  for  singing 
elsewhere  ;  and  if  some  of  the  Grub  Street  poets  of 
the  day  failed  to  announce  through  the  medium  of 
their  heroic  couplets  that,  just  as  the  sweetest  min¬ 
strels  of  the  grove  love  to  make  their  nests  among  the 
gloomiest  foliage,  so  the  most  exquisite  songsters  of 
the  town  now  sent  forth  their  most  enchanting  strains 
from  a  certain  nest  in  a  narrow  street,  all  that  can 
be  said  is  that  they  lost  a  good  opportunity  of  im¬ 
proving  the  occasion. 

Most  delightful  indeed  are  the  accounts  given  by 
Fanny  Burney  of  the  entertainments  at  this  house, 
and  of  the  many  distinguished  visitors  who  passed 
through  the  somewhat  narrow  doorway.  The  house 
of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  with  its  painting-room  at  the 
back,  was  just  round  the  corner  in  Leicester  Fields, 
and  he  took  care  that  the  ornamental  iron  railing  of  his 
stone  staircase  was  curved  outward,  to  the  extent  of 
a  foot  over  the  end  of  every  step,  to  prevent  the  ladies 
of  quality  who  visited  him — a  great  and  notable  pro¬ 
cession  moving  decorously  to  the  immortality  which  he 
conferred  upon  them — from  being  incommoded  as  to 
their  hoops  ;  but  his  staircase,  even  without  this  grace¬ 
ful  concession  to  the  circumference  of  the  prevailing 
fashion,  was  far  broader  than  Burney’s ;  and  there 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  COMEDY 


71 


must  have  been  some  little  grumbling  when  a  prima 
donna  of  generous  proportions,  wearing  a  gown  of 
inexorable  breadth,  had  to  work  her  way  up  to  the 
first  floor  in  St  Martin’s  Street,  where  the  reception- 
rooms  were  situated. 

But  what  a  company  overcame  the  restrictions 
incidental  to  the  small  house  !  The  company  were 
usually  better  than  the  rooms.  Of  course  Mr.  Garrick 
made  himself  at  home  in  any  corner.  He  was  ready 
to  go  on  with  his  fooling — and  he  went  on  with  it — 
in  Dr.  Burney’s  powder  closet,  where  he  watched  the 
wig-dresser  at  his  work  and  nearly  frightened  the 
poor  man  to  death  with  the  changes  he  made  in  the 
expression  of  his  face  while  looking  on.  For  the 
benefit  of  the  girls,  who  were  convulsed  as  they 
watched  him,  he  went  through  an  imaginary  scene 
between  himself  and  his  old  schoolmaster,  Dr.  John¬ 
son,  imitating  his  peculiarities  in  a  way  that  Miss 
Fanny  learned  to  appreciate  in  after  years,  when  she 
became  fully  acquainted  with  every  peculiarity  of 
Johnson.  But  Johnson  himself  was  as  honoured  and 
as  inconvenient  a  visitor  at  St.  Martin’s  Street  as 
he  was  elsewhere.  On  two  occasions  a  glimpse  of 
the  great  man  is  afforded  us  in  these  rooms,  and  in 
both  we  see  him  eminently  Johnsonian,  though  not 
eminently  the  Johnson  who  was  seen  by  Boswell. 
The  description  which  Fanny  Burney  gave  of  his 
first  visit  in  a  letter  to  Crisp  is  more  vivid  than  any¬ 
thing  in  Boswell’s  Life .  The  playfulness,  the  gentle 
humour,  and  the  tenderness  (with  the  touch  of  the 
bear  about  it)  of  the  honoured  guest  are  shown  with 


72 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


a  firm  hand.  Miss  Burney  observed  everything  ;  she 
was  not  a  mere  recorder,  she  was  a  true  observer,  and 
when  there  was  any  comedy  in  the  air  she  responded 
to  its  suggestion  with  the  feeling  of  the  floating 
compass-needle  for  the  approach  of  iron. 

And  the  comedy  spirit  was  certainly  in  the  air  upon 
the  occasion  of  another  visit  of  Johnson  to  the  house. 
He  came  on  the  invitation  of  Burney,  to  meet  his  old 
friend  and  patron  Fulke  Greville.  But  thinking  that 
Mr.  Greville  did  not  sufficiently  appreciate  the  honour, 
he  turned  his  back  upon  him  and  refused  to  utter 
a  word  of  the  wisdom  that  people  expected  to  come 
from  his  lips.  In  despair  at  the  fiasco  that  was 
imminent,  Dr.  Burney  begged  one  of  the  guests,  a 
distinguished  musician,  named  Gabrielli  Piozzi,  to 
oblige  the  company  with  a  song.  Signor  Piozzi 
hastened  to  the  pianoforte,  and  began  to  sing  in 
a  sentimental  style  that  had  many  admirers.  But 
another  of  the  guests,  a  lady  named  Mrs.  Thrale,  the 
wife  of  the  great  brewer,  thought  that  some  diversion 
could  be  made  by  getting  behind  the  singer  and 
imitating  his  movements  with  the  extravagance  need¬ 
ful  to  bring  out  the  humour  of  the  parody. 

This  was  certainly  not  the  way  to  convince  people 
of  taste  and  fashion,  like  the  Grevilles  and  their  ex¬ 
quisite  daughter,  Mrs.  Crewe — who  had  been  painted 
by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  as  St.  Genevieve,  and  who 
had  been  made  the  subject  of  a  poetical  epistle  by 
Charles  James  Fox — that  they  had  no  reason  to  look 
coldly  upon  Dr.  Burney’s  guests,  and  Dr.  Burney 
perceived  this  before  the  thing  went  on  for  long.  He 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  COMEDY 


73 


tactfully  withdrew  the  vivacious  lady  and  put  her  on  a 
chair  in  the  corner,  so  to  speak,  and  the  singer  was 
allowed  to  complete  his  chansonette  and  to  marry  his 
vivacious  mimic  a  few  years  later. 

Among  the  other  notabilities  who  attended  the 
informal  concerts  at  the  little  house  were  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  whose  hearing  was  as  bad  as  Johnson’s 
sight ;  Edmund  Burke,  who  talked  even  more  bril¬ 
liantly  than  he  “speechified”  ;  Nollekens,  the  niggardly 
sculptor  ;  Colman,  the  dramatist  and  lessee  of  Covent 
Garden  Theatre,  and  lords  and  ladies  by  the  score.  But 
the  “  curiosities  ”  were  quite  as  numerous  as  the  nota¬ 
bilities.  Omai,  the  “gentle  savage”  of  Cowper’s  poem, 
who  was  brought  to  England  by  Lieutenant  Cook 
in  the  ship  on  which  James  Burney  was  a  midship¬ 
man,  came  to  the  house,  and  the  sisters  of  the  young 
officer  sat  in  amazement  while  he  talked  with  their 
visitor  in  idiomatic  Polynesian.  Bruce,  the  Abyssinian 
traveller,  came  also  with  an  ancient  lyre.  He  was 
a  very  tall  man,  and  so  were  some  of  his  stories.  It 
was  said  of  him  by  a  punning  unbeliever  in  his 
traveller’s  tales  that  if  Bruce  had  come  from  Abyssinia 
bringing  a  lyre  with  him,  there  was  at  the  lowest 
calculation  one  less  in  Abyssinia.  The  tall  explorer 
remained  one  evening  to  supper — the  frugal  supper 
of  a  family  of  girls  :  it  consisted  of  roasted  apples 
and  cheese,  and  so,  as  one  of  the  family  hinted  in 
a  letter  to  Crisp,  formed  a  pleasing  contrast  to  his 
habitual  menu  in  Abyssinia,  which,  readers  of  his 
adventures  need  not  be  reminded,  included  steaks 
cut  from  a  live  ox. 


74 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


Another  visitor  of  great  stature  was  not  one  who 
told  weird  stories,  but  one  of  whom  weird  stories  were 
told.  He  was  the  notorious  Count  Orloff,  the 
favourite  of  the  Russian  Empress.  How  so  incon¬ 
gruous  a  guest  appeared  at  the  humble  home  of  a 
simple  English  music-master  is  explained  :  Dr.  King 
wanted  him  to  hear  Miithel’s  duet.  Of  course  the  girls 
looked  at  him  with  intense  interest,  especially  since, 
as  one  of  them  confesses,  the  rumour  reached  them 
that  he  had  personally  strangled  his  Imperial  Master 
at  the  instigation  of  his  Imperial  mistress.  It  may 
be  that  a  course  of  music  had  been  prescribed  for 
his  savage  breast  in  sympathy  with  the  accepted 
tradition  respecting  its  charms. 

But,  equally  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  idols  of  the 
girls  were  the  foreign  tenors.  One  of  them  was  the 
gentle  Pacchierotti,  who  came  after  Fanny  had  become 
famous.  He  had  certainly  more  than  a  suspicion  of 
a  tender  feeling  for  her  :  if  he  could  have  known  in 
what  terms  she  referred  to  him  for  long  after  they 
had  met  and  parted,  he  might  have  been  emboldened 
to  confess  more  than  he  ever  seems  to  have  done 
of  the  secret  of  the  interest  that  the  home  of  the 
Maestro  Burni  had  for  him.  Fanny  never  wrote 
sentimentally  about  the  gracious  Pacchierotti ;  but 
among  all  her  references  to  him,  in  the  allegretto  vein 
which  she  assumed  so  happily,  there  may  be  detected 
a  note  of  tender  feeling  that  may  almost  justify  our 
fancy  that  between  her  and  the  charming  visitor  there 
was  a  rapprochement  beyond  that  which  existed  between 
all  the  members  of  the  household  and  the  vocalists. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  COMEDY 


75 


In  addition  to  Pacchierotti  there  were  Rauzzini 
and  Piozzi,  both  gifted  artists  and,  at  least  one  of 
them,  worthy  of  esteem  ;  so  that  in  the  season  there 
was  never  any  lack  of  material  for  a  concert  of  the 
highest  type  available  at  any  house  in  London  ;  and 
it  is  well  known  that  the  chance  of  hearing  good 
music  without  paying  for  it  has  always  been  potent 
in  drawing  the  rank  and  fashion  of  the  town  to  its 
centre.  Thus  it  was  that  Dr.  Burney’s  personal 
charm  and  distinction  were  supplemented  by  the  irre¬ 
sistible  attractions  of  his  accomplished  foreign  friends, 
so  that  it  became  understood  far  and  wide  that  for 
one  to  confess  that  one  was  not  a  frequenter  of  this 
house  in  St.  Martin’s  Street  was  to  acknowledge 
oneself  outside  the  best  society. 

So  it  was  for  several  years.  Dr.  Burney  became 
the  friend  of  almost  every  personage  worth  knowing  ; 
and  he  only  lacked  the  appointment  of  Leader  of 
the  King’s  Band  to  satisfy  his  most  ambitious  hopes. 
Once  he  had  seen  the  appointment  go  past  him  to 
a  much  less  able  man,  and  he  seems  to  have  made  up 
his  mind  that  so  gross  a  miscarriage  of  patronage 
should  not  occur  again. 

Meantime,  he  took  the  gifts  that  the  gods  provided, 
and  awaited  with  philosophy  the  bestowal  of  that 
which  he  trusted  the  King  would  provide,  when  he 
had  the  chance.  He  published  a  portion  of  his  great 
History  of  Music,  and  when  this  was  done  he  had 
good  reason  to  feel  that  he  had  established  a  claim 
to  Royal  favour  beyond  the  power  of  any  rival  s 
competition.  The  solid  merits  of  the  work — the  ex- 


76 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


haustive  technical  knowledge  it  displayed,  the  learn- 
ing  and  the  mature  judgment  to  be  found  in  every 
chapter — caused  it  to  remain  for  long  a  standard  work. 
It  may  also  be  remarked  that  the  ponderous  style  in 
which  it  was  written — as  it  appears  to  us  nowadays — • 
added  to  rather  than  diminished  from  its  scholastic 
value  in  the  estimation  of  his  contemporaries,  whose 
highest  exponent  of  literary  style  was  Dr.  Johnson. 
The  baleful  influence  of  Johnson  is  apparent  in  the 
History  of  Music,  as  it  is  in  the  countless  books 
published  during  the  latter  half  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  and  most  conspicuously  in  other  works  that 
came  from  the  Burney  family. 

And  then  one  day  his  daughter  Fanny  came  to 
him  to  beg  for  his  sanction  to  make  an  attempt  to 
get  published  something  which  she  had  written.  She 
had  not  to  say  what  it  was  that  she  had  written, 
because  he  had  not  sufficient  interest  in  her  habitual 
scribblings  to  question  her  on  this  point.  He  was 
not  at  all  interested  in  the  subject  of  her  petition. 
She  had  postponed  her  request  until  he  was  at  the 
point  of  setting  out  on  a  visit  to  Chessington,  and, 
after  a  laugh  and  a  pinching  of  her  ear,  he  may 
have  dismissed  the  whole  thing  from  his  mind.  Of 
course  he  told  her  that  she  might  publish  anything 
that  the  booksellers  would  take  from  her — he  con¬ 
sidered  himself  fully  justified  in  giving  his  sanction 
to  any  enterprise  that  was  so  qualified ;  but  she  her¬ 
self  made  an  addition  that  still  further  protected  the 
name  of  Burney  from  possible  obloquy,  for  she  said 
that  she  was  ready  to  promise  that  her  name  should 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  COMEDY 


77 


•not  be  attached  to  anything  she  might  offer  for 
publication. 

How  could  he  refuse  his  sanction  to  so  modest 
an  enterprise,  and  one  which  he  must  have  believed 
had  about  as  much  chance  of  being  realised  as  his 
daughter  had  of  being  appointed  to  the  King’s  Band  ? 
If  he  did  not  laugh  heartily  while  she  was  making 
her  petition  to  him,  he  must  have  done  so  before 
he  got  outside  the  Square.  And  then  he  thought 
no  more  about  it.  He  did  not  bother  her  with 
questions  about  her  literary  work— whether  it  was 
in  prose  or  in  verse,  whether  it  dealt  with  matters 
•celestial,  like  her  mother’s  pamphlet — to  say  nothing 
of  his  own  History — or  with  matters  as  terres¬ 
trial  as  the  South  Sea  lore  which  she  had  picked 
up  from  her  brother.  He  simply  forgot  all  about 
the  thing;  and  so  his  daughter  Fanny  obtained  her 
father’s  kind  permission  to  submit  to  a  publisher  a 
book  which  was  read  by  thousands  while  his  own 
great  History  was  scarcely  read  by  hundreds,  and 
which  has  since  familiarised  hundreds  of  thousands 
with  the  name  of  Burney  without  a  tenth  of  them  being 
oven  aware  of  the  fact  that  a  great  History  of  Music 
was  written  by  a  learned  gentleman  of  that  name. 

The  story  of  the  entrance  into  the  world  of  this 
story  of  Evelina  is  as  interesting  as  anything  in  that 
history  of  a  Young  Lady's  Entrance  into  the  World. 
It  must  be  briefly  told  in  this  place  before  a  reader  can 
appreciate  properly  the  position  in  the  world  which 
Fanny  Burney  had  achieved  when  she  was  induced 
to  become  a  Keeper  of  the  Robes  to  the  Queen. 


THE  FIRST  STEP 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE  FIRST  STEP 

WE  have  already  suggested  that  Evelina  was 
the  residuary  legatee,  as  it  were,  of  Caroline 
Evelyn,  the  young  lady  whose  mortal  part  was 
consigned  to  the  flames  kindled  by  the  wisdom  of 
the  stepmother,  who  had  come  to  hear  of  her 
existence  as  one  of  a  numerous  family  of  bantlings. 
It  was  only  the  mortal  part  of  Caroline  Evelyn 
of  Poland  Street  that  was  reduced  to  ashes  ; 
the  immortal  part  survived  and  grew  into  Evelina. 
The  inquisitorial  stepmother  had  done  well.  But 
for  the  timely  destruction  of  the  immature  Caroline, 
the  author  of  her  being  might  never  have  had 
such  motherly  regard  for  her  as  caused  her  to 
develop  into  the  mature  Evelina.  Fanny  Burney 
might  have  been  content  to  read  over  the  MS. 
to  herself  and  her  uncritical  sisters  at  intervals, 
and  to  feel  that  she  had  done  well  ;  but  when  the 
pages  were  burnt,  she  found  that  the  idea  which 
had  prompted  them  was  alive,  and  determined  to 
assert  its  existence  and  its  claims  to  live. 

We  know  from  her  reply  to  Crisp’s  searching 
criticisms  upon  the  MS.  of  a  portion  of  Cecilia 
which  she  submitted  to  him  that  she  was  a  delibe¬ 
rate — We  might  say  a  cold-blooded — composer  of 

rj  81 


82 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


a  “plot.”  She  had  before  her  the  various  scenes 
through  which  it  was  to  be  developed  and  the  various 
characters  who  were  to  play  a  part  in  its  develop¬ 
ment  ;  she  did  not  merely  sit  down  to  her  desk  and 
trust  to  the  inspiration  of  the  moment.  In  this  way 
we  imagine  she  must  have  composed  Evelina ,  so  that 
she  and  her  novel  reached  maturity  together.  To 
talk,  as  some  critics  have  done,  of  this  novel  having 
been  written  when  she  was  seventeen  is  quite  as 
absurd  as  to  talk  of  it  as  not  having  been  written 
till  she  was  twenty-five.  The  truth  is  that  it  was 
being  written  from  the  time  she  was  sixteen  until 
she  was  twenty-five — a  scene  here  and  there,  the 
sketch  of  a  character  now  and  again,  a  situation 
with  some  comedy  in  it  when  she  felt  in  the  mood, 
and  one  with  a  touch  of  sensibility  in  it  when  in 
another  mood.  It  is  “shot”  with  the  varying 
moods  of  a  girl,  and  they  were  the  moods  of  Fanny 
Burney ;  hence  its  power  to  convince  a  reader  of 
its  truthfulness  to  nature.  It  is  pretty  certain  that, 
like  all  authors  who  have  plenty  of  time  to  compose 
but  little  time  to  write,  she  had  the  whole  story 
in  her  mind  before  she  set  about  the  work  of  ar¬ 
ranging  and  connecting  her  jottings  so  as  to  bring 
them  into  focus  for  a  reader.  The  time  she  spent 
over  it,  even  when  the  copying  stage  had  been 
reached,  was  not  sufficiently  great  to  arouse  the 
suspicions  either  of  her  stepmother  or  her  father. 
But,  of  course,  it  would  have  been  impossible  for 
her  to  pursue  her  work  without  arousing  the  sus¬ 
picions  of  her  sisters.  Suspicions?  Her  sisters 


THE  FIRST  STEP 


83 


would  have  found  out  all  about  it  before  they  had 
time  even  to  suspect  anything.  She  knew  this,  and 
so  she  confided  in  them  at  once  that  all  the  time 
she  spent  writing  was  not  given  to  her  Diary  or  her 
letters,  but  to  the  composition  of  a  story  which  might 
be  called  a  novel ;  and  on  this  account  it  was  ab¬ 
solutely  necessary,  she  must  have  convinced  them, 
that  not  a  word  of  the  matter  must  reach  the  ear 
of  the  heads  of  the  household.  They  had  all  heard 
the  word  “novel”  whispered  by  their  elders,  and 
had  been  instructed  in  the  belief  that  while  it  was 
bad  enough  for  any  girl  to  read  a  novel,  it  was 
criminal  for  one  even  to  entertain  the  thought  of 
writing  a  novel.  That  was  the  idea  which  prevailed 
in  the  eighteenth  century,  and  to  even  a  greater 
extent  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  nineteenth.  Novels 
were  referred  to  by  the  pastors  and  masters  of  young 
people  pretty  much  as  the  “penny  dreadful”  is 
referred  to  by  police-court  magistrates  nowadays, 
and  they  were  read  by  young  ladies  with  just  as 
great  avidity  as  the  “  Deadwood  Dick”  series  is  by 
the  boys  of  the  public  school  and  those  of  the  Board 
school.  Of  course  they  were  read  surreptitiously 
by  the  young  ladies,  but  there  was  scarcely  a  sofa 
cushion  in  a  household  of  girls  that  did  not  conceal 
a  contraband  volume  while  the  papa  and  mamma 
were  in  the  room. 

It  was  the  circulating  library  that  enabled  the 
young  ladies  to  snatch  these  fearful  joys  at  a  small 
expense.  A  young  lady’s  pocket-money  was  never 
large  enough  to  allow  of  her  paying  the  twelve  or 


84 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


fifteen  shillings  which  the  four  or  six  volumes  of 
a  novel  cost — when  it  did  not  run  to  eight — but  a 
few  pence  enabled  her  to  smuggle  into  the  house 
by  such  means  as  her  ingenuity  might  suggest 
the  latest  of  these  productions.  Hence  we  find 
that  the  satire  of  that  guardian  of  polite  morality, 
the  eighteenth-century  playwright,  is  so  frequently 
directed  against  the  circulating  library.  Sheridan 
was  one  of  these  satirists.  It  will  be  remembered 
that  in  The  Rivals  he  shows  Lydia  Languish 
in  league  with  her  maid  Lucy  for  the  procuring 
of  certain  volumes  through  such  an  agency  of  distri¬ 
bution.  And  yet  there  is  scarcely  one  of  the  plays 
of  Sheridan,  Tobin,  Kelly,  Cumberland,  or  Colman, 
that  does  not  contain  dialogue  that  would  not  be 
tolerated  in  a  modern  play ;  and  there  was  not  a 
parlour  in  which  topics  were  not  discussed  in  the 
presence  of  young  ladies  that,  if  introduced  into 
the  free-and-easy  drawing-room  in  like  circum¬ 
stances  to-day,  would  cause  even  the  most  loose- 
laced  to  frown.  The  element  which  is  termed 
"‘the  robust”  by  writers  on  the  eighteenth  century 
was  not  supposed  to  enter  into  such  books  as  were 
thought  suitable  for  a  young  lady’s  reading  :  it  was 
merely  confined  to  the  conversation  constructed  in 
the  young  lady’s  presence  and  to  the  plays  which  she 
was  taken  to  see.  But  there  was  really  nothing  that 
should  surprise  us  in  this  arrangement  of  the  ob¬ 
jectionable  and  the  unobjectionable,  for  any  day  of  our 
life  we  may  see  in  one  column  of  a  newspaper  a 
grave  indictment  of  a  novel  in  which  may  be  found 


THE  FIRST  STEP 


85 


— if  one  reads  it  with  one’s  eyes  open  for  such 
things — a  suggestion  of  a  fictitious  impropriety,  and 
in  the  next  column  a  full  report  of  the  blunt  cross- 
examination  of  a  witness  in  a  case  of  unnamable 
indecency  which  happens  to  be  running  its  course 
in  the  Law  Courts. 

But  the  anomaly  flourished ;  and  the  novel  of 
the  eighteenth  century  seemed  to  exist  in  order 
to  afford  the  coarse-mouthed  heads  of  households 
an  opportunity  of  striking  a  blow  on  behalf  of  purity 
by  prohibiting  its  appearance  under  their  roofs. 
To  call  a  young  woman  a  novel-reader  was  to  go 
far  in  indicating  her  worthlessness,  so  what  could 
be  thought  of  the  young  woman  who  wrote  novels? 
We  may  be  quite  sure  that  if  Dr.  Burney  had  had 
the  least  notion  that  the  work  which  his  daughter 
asked  his  leave  to  try  to  get  published  was  a  novel, 
he  would  never  have  given  his  sanction  to  such 
an  attempt.  Macaulay  had  more  of  his  ill-considered 
censure  of  Dr.  Burney  for  the  apathy  which  he 
showed  in  regard  to  the  publication  of  Evelina ; 
though  happily,  he  says,  it  had  no  worse  consequences 
than  to  deprive  his  daughter  of  the  ,£1,200  or 
,£1,500  which  she  would  have  made  by  the  book! 
Why,  if  Burney  had  not  been  apathetic  the  book 
would  most  likely  never  have  been  published  at 
all.  He  would  certainly  have  joined  with  his  wife 
in  condemning  his  daughter’s  taking  any  step  that 
would  furnish  the  circulating  libraries  with  material 
for  carrying  on  their  detestable  traffic  and  go  far  to 
destroy  her  own  chances  in  life. 


86 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


Fanny  Burney  herself  was  fully  aware  of  the  bad 
name  that  attached  to  the  writing  of  novels.  She 
certainly  had  never  read  one  without  the  sanction  of 
her  father  or  his  wife.  The  Royal  Princesses  were  not 
allowed  to  read  even  those  that  passed  as  innocent 
unless  they  had  first  asked  the  Queen’s  leave,  and 
this  Royal  parent  of  the  Prince  Regent  and  of  more 
than  one  daughter  who  was  associated  with  a  scandal, 
told  Fanny  with  her  own  lips  that  when  she  heard 
that  Fanny  had  written  a  novel  she  was  greatly 
prejudiced  against  her,  in  spite  £>f  Mrs.  Delany’s 
being  prepared  to  give  her  a  clean  bill  of  health. 

It  is  necessary  that  these  facts  concerning  the  status 
of  the  novel  during  the  latter  half  of  the  eighteenth 
century  should  be  borne  in  mind  if  we  are  to  estimate 
aright  the  step  that  Fanny  Burney  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  take,  not,  we  are  sure,  without  many  mis¬ 
givings.  She  knew  that  she  need  not  go  to  her 
father  for  counsel  on  the  matter  ;  and  she  bound 
over  her  brother  and  sisters  to  secrecy  when,  to 
anticipate  their  discovery  of  the  truth,  she  confided 
in  them  ;  and  loyally  did  they  keep  their  trust. 

When  she  thought  that  she  had  written  enough 
matter  to  make  two  volumes,  and  had  copied  it  out 
in  a  feigned  hand  which  she  had  cultivated  for  the 
purpose,  this  tyro  in  the  science  of  tergiversation 
wrote  to  Dodsley,  the  well-known  bookseller,  a  letter 
of  a  mysterious  character,  unsigned,  inquiring  if  he 
would  be  prepared  to  consider  the  publication  of  two 
volumes  of  the  work  immediately  and  the  remainder 
after  the  lapse  of  a  year.  But  Dodsley,  who,  like 


THE  FIRST  STEP 


87 


many  another  business  man,  did  not  understand  his 
business,  refused  to  treat  with  any  author  who  re¬ 
fused  to  disclose  his  name.  This  was  a  blow  to  the 
arch-conspirator  and  her  confederates — for  the  sisters 
and  brother  were  deep  in  the  plot — but  after  a 
consultation  they  resolved  to  apply  to  Lowndes,  of 
Fleet  Street,  another  eminent  bookseller,  in  the  same 
strain  ;  and  they  were  soon  pleased  to  find  that  all 
the  trade  were  not  so  punctilious  as  Dodsley.  Mr. 
Lowndes  did  not  refuse  to  do  business  at  the  outset ; 
he  wrote  offering  to  read  the  MS.  It  was  sent  to 
him  at  once,  and  very  amusing  it  is  to  hear  of  these 
youthful  traffickers  in  the  forbidden  seeking  to  mystify 
the  innocent  tradesman  by  disguising  Brother  Charles, 
so  as  to  make  him  seem  older,  when  carrying  the 
precious  parcel  to  its  destination.  In  due  course, 
a  reply  was  received  from  Mr.  Lowndes  in  which  he 
expressed  his  interest  in  the  work,  but  declined  the 
suggestion  of  the  author  to  publish  it  in  an  incomplete 
form.  He  requested  the  remaining  volume  to  be 
sent  to  him  ;  and  it  was  when  she  had  put  the  last 
touches  to  the  final  volume — it  occupied  her  another 
year — that  she  applied  to  her  father,  as  already  stated, 
for  permission  to  publish  the  “something”  which 
she  had  written. 

In  a  surprisingly  short  space  of  time  a  letter  ar¬ 
rived  from  Lowndes,  addressed  to  “  Mr.  Grafton,  at 
The  Orange  Coffee  House,  in  Orange  Street” — the 
daring  young  gang  of  conspirators  had  been  mindful 
of  all  the  tedious  technicalities  of  the  Post  Office 
in  regard  to  names  and  addresses — and  in  it  Mr. 


88 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


Lowndes  expressed  his  approval  of  the  work  and 
showed  the  extent  of  his  approval  by  an  offer  to 
purchase  it  for  twenty  pounds  and  to  publish  it  at 
his  own  expense !  It  was  worth  being  in  a  con¬ 
spiracy  that  was  attended  by  such  splendid  results. 
Twenty  pounds  for  not  more  than  four  or  five  years’ 
casual  work,  including  the  making  of  fair  copies — 
of  course  the  verdict  of  a  council  of  the  executive 
of  the  inner  circle  of  the  brotherhood  was  that  the 
offer  should  be  jumped  at  before  there  should  be 
time  to  reconsider  it.  They  jumped  at  it  ;  and 
their  fears  regarding  its  rescission  proved  groundless. 
Good  Mr.  Lowndes  made  no  unworthy  suggestion 
that  his  magnanimity  had  been  the  result  of  a  mis¬ 
calculation  :  he  made  no  attempt  to  back  out  of  his 
bargain  even  after  he  had  spent  quite  a  small  fortune 
— a  very  small  fortune,  perhaps  as  much  as  ^50 — 
over  the  printing  and  binding  and  the  many  other 
incidents  of  the  publication,  and  had,  after  striking 
a  business  man’s  balance-sheet,  found  that  he  had 
made  over  ,£1,000  by  the  transaction! 

No  ;  Mr.  Thomas  Lowndes,  of  77,  Fleet  Street, 
found  that  he  had  made  a  very  good  bargain  for 
himself.  But  if  Lord  Macaulay  actually  believed 
that,  had  Dr.  Burney  busied  himself  making  the 
bargain  on  behalf  of  his  daughter,  the  thousand 
pounds  would  have  gone  to  her  rather  than  to  the 
publisher,  he  must  have  had  in  his  mind  cases  of 
enterprise  of  eighteenth-century  booksellers  in  respect 
of  untried  authors  which  are  quite  unknown  to  the 
majority  of  students  of  the  period — or,  for  that  matter. 


THE  FIRST  STEP 


89 


any  other  period.  It  would  have  thrown  a  flood  of 
light  upon  the  relations  between  authors  and  pub¬ 
lishers  of  the  period  if  Macaulay  had  confided  in  his 
readers  on  this  point — giving  them  a  list  of  the 
writers  who  succeeded  in  selling  their  first  book  to 
a  publisher  or  anybody  else  for  something  between 
the  ,£1,200  and  the  £1,500  of  which  he  says  Dr. 
Burney  deprived  his  daughter  by  allowing  her  to 
do  her  own  bargaining  with  Lowndes. 

Little  Miss  Burney  at  the  age  of  twenty-six,  with 
twenty  pounds  in  her  hand  as  the  pecuniary  result 
of  spending  her  spare  time  in  writing  a  novel,  was 
in  a  position  that  a  good  many  other  young  writers, 
both  before  and  since,  have  envied.  Mr.  Lowndes, 
of  77,  Fleet  Street,  was  not  at  that  moment  a  man 
whose  position  would  be  envied  by  most  of  his 
confreres  in  business.  To  be  sure,  a  year  later  they 
were  all  envying  him  his  possession  of  the  Evelina 
gold-mine ;  but  that  is  beside  the  point.  The 
question  is  the  market  value  of  a  novel  by  an  un¬ 
known  writer  on  the  day  the  MS.  is  put  into  the 
hands  of  the  publisher.  Every  one  knows  how  ex¬ 
tremely  speculative  is  the  value  of  such  a  work ;  but 
every  one  knows  that,  whatever  the  result  of  the 
publication  may  be  from  the  standpoint  of  money 
profit,  it  changes  in  a  moment  the  standing  of  the 
writer  :  it  makes  him  or  her  an  Author,  and  that 
change  many  thousand  persons  have  at  all  times 
in  most  countries  thought  well  worth  effecting  by 
the  payment  of  a  considerable  sum  of  money  to 
a  publisher.  If  Mr.  Lowndes  could  have  foreseen 


90 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


his  clearing  his  thousand  pounds  off  Evelina 
he  might  reasonably  be  accused  of  parsimony  in 
offering  only  twenty  pounds  for  the  MS.,  and  Dr. 
Burney  might  be  accused  of  a  culpable  neglect  of 
his  daughter’s  interests  in  allowing  her  to  accept 
the  twenty  pounds  ;  but  considering  the  actual  cir¬ 
cumstances  of  the  case,  we  can  go  no  further  than  to 
think  that  Mr.  Lowndes  was  a  very  fortunate  man 
in  getting  a  property  worth  thousands  of  pounds  for 
twenty  pounds  ;  that  little  Miss  Burney  was  a 
very  fortunate  young  woman  in  getting  twenty 
solid  sovereigns  in  her  little  hot  hand  for  the  first 
book  she  had  written,  and,  terque  quaterque  beati , 
the  public,  in  that  Dr.  Burney  neglected  his 
daughter’s  interests  in  the  transaction,  so  that  it 
was  completed  before  he  could  forbid  it,  as  he 
certainly  would  have  done.  We  have  already  ex¬ 
pressed  the  opinion  that  if  he  had  known  of  her 
making  an  attempt  to  get  a  novel  published — of  her 
doing  her  best  to  qualify  for  the  ban  that  rested  on 
writers  of  novels  as  a  class — he  would  assuredly  have 
felt  that  he  would  be  neglecting  his  daughter’s  in¬ 
terests  most  culpably  if  he  had  not  put  his  foot  down 
and  prohibited  the  carrying  out  of  a  transaction  that 
would  have  left  his  daughter  going  through  the 
world  with  the  stigma  of  a  novelist  upon  her.  At 
any  rate,  if  he  had  not  the  time  to  feel  this,  his  good 
wife  would  have  done  the  feeling  on  his  behalf, 
and  he  would  have  relied  on  her  judgment,  look¬ 
ing  on  it  as  a  purely  domestic  incident.  We  have 
seen  how  she  assumed  the  function  of  the  Grand 


THE  FIRST  STEP 


91 


Inquisitor  at  the  auto-da-fe  of  poor  Caroline  Evelyn 
and  the  other  fledglings  of  her  stepdaughter’s  fancy, 
and  is  it  to  be  believed  that  she  would  have  with¬ 
held  her  hand  when  the  whole  question  of  the  girl’s 
future  was  trembling  in  the  balance  ?  The  girl  her¬ 
self  knew  too  well  what  her  parents  would  have  done, 
had  she  confided  in  them  on  this  matter  ;  and  so,  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  kept  hidden  from  them 
a  matter  of  supreme  importance,  silencing  her  con¬ 
science  by  the  reflection  that  if  any  harm  came  of  it, 
their  honoured  name  would  remain  without  a  smirch  ; 
and  also  by  the  thought  that  she  had  obtained  from 
her  father  a  permission  of  as  general  a  character  as 
the  General  Confession  —  ample  for  conscientious 
purposes — to  take  the  step  to  gratify  her  ambition. 
It  was  only  a  simple  step,  but  to  Fanny  Burney  it 
seemed  a  plunge  into  a  deep  and  troubled  ocean  ; 
and  the  waters  closed  over  her  head  when  on  the 
morning  of  January  29,  1778,  at  the  breakfast-table, 
her  stepmother  casually  read  out  of  the  London 
Chronicle  the  advertisement  that  this  day  would  be 
published  in  3  vols.  i2mo,  9s.  bound,  7s.  6d. 
sewed,  Evelina  ;  or ,  A  Young  Lady  s  Entrance  into 
the  World. 

But  her  fellow-conspirators  had  become  adepts 
in  the  art  of  dissimulation — hardened  in  deception 
by  implication.  They  heard  the  announcement  with¬ 
out  flinching — without  a  movement  that  might  arouse 
the  suspicions  of  the  head  of  the  household.  Fanny 
alone  at  the  table  felt  the  fearful  joy  of  secret  author¬ 
ship  ;  and  had  the  reader’s  eye  been  on  her,  it  could 


92 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


not  but  have  perceived  the  effect  that  the  advertise¬ 
ment  had  upon  her.  Fanny  was  certainly  flushing 
furiously  ;  but  then  she  was  so  bashful  by  nature  that 
even  at  the  age  of  twenty-six  she  must  have  blushed 
every  hour  of  the  day. 

And  then  no  doubt  Mrs.  Burney  bustled  about  her 
household  duties,  after  settling  the  girls  comfortably 
down  to  their  needlework,  the  author  of  Evelina 
among  them.  Mrs.  Burney  was  an  admirable  house¬ 
keeper. 


A  BRILLIANT  SUCCESS 


CHAPTER  VII 


A  BRILLIANT  SUCCESS 

THE  success  of  a  book  in  the  eighteenth  century 
was  dependent  upon,  practically,  the  same  cir¬ 
cumstances  as  contribute  to  such  an  end  in  the 
present  day.  We  refer,  of  course,  to  a  book  that  is 
issued  in  the  ordinary  way,  by  a  writer  whose  name 
has  not  previously  been  prominently  before  the  public 
in  some  connection  other  than  literature.  In  1778 
a  book  might  with  luck  obtain  half  a  dozen  reviews  ; 
to-day  one  can  hardly  escape  receiving  fifty,  unless  it 
is  a  volume  of  verse,  in  which  case  it  easily  evades  any 
notice  whatsoever ;  but  the  fact  remains  the  same,  the 
conditions  that  govern  the  sale  are  alike  :  the  book 
must  be  talked  about  in  order  to  sell.  Whether  the 
elements  that  cause  it  to  be  talked  about  are  the 
elements  of  a  good  book  or  a  bad  book  is  a  question 
quite  apart  from  the  question  of  success.  Exceed¬ 
ingly  silly  books  were  talked  into  success  in  the 
eighteenth  century  just  as  they  are  in  the  twentieth, 
and  exceedingly  good  books  have  failed  at  all  times 
because  they  never  got  talked  about. 

Evelina  was  soon  on  the  way  to  success.  Before 
it  got  the  first  of  the  three  reviews  which  were  given 

to  it  within  two  months  of  its  being  published,  people 

95 


96 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


had  begun  to  talk  about  it,  and  the  point  about  it  that 
gave  all  who  were  disposed  to  do  so  a  chance  of 
talking  was  its  anonymity.  There  was  something 
that  challenged  discussion  at  the  outset — something 
of  far  more  account  as  a  general  topic  than  any 
question  of  literary  merit  or  demerit,  and  people 
made  the  most  of  it,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
in  the  eighteenth  century  anonymous  books  were 
far  more  frequent  than  they  are  at  the  present 
day.  The  anonymity  of  an  uninteresting  work 
will  not  force  it  to  the  front  as  a  topic ;  but 
should  a  book  be  really  interesting  there  can  be 
no  doubt  that,  if  the  title-page  does  not  bear  the 
name  of  the  author,  every  reader  is  stimulated  to 
try  to  repair  the  omission  and  to  give  a  reason  for 
being  definite  on  that  point.  This  is  the  making  of 
the  book’s  success,  more  than  the  simple  fact  of  its 
being  interesting  in  itself ;  and  Fanny  Burney,  without 
doing  anything  unusual,  had  hit  upon  the  best  way  of 
getting  her  book  talked  into  a  success ;  having  first 
done  her  best  to  make  it  interesting.  Within  a  brief 
space  Evelina  was  regarded  in  the  most  influential 
society  pretty  much  as  a  pretty  fair-haired  foundling 
might  be  when  brought  into  the  hall  of  the  mansion 
by  the  gamekeeper,  who  has  heard  it  crying  under 
a  hedge  :  every  one  found  it  interesting  and  every 
one  was  ready  to  suggest  the  name  of  its  parent.  Of 
course,  we  only  know  a  few  of  the  guesses  that  were 
made  on  this  point,  but  we  may  take  it  for  granted 
that  when  one  person  was  equal  to  affirming  that 
its  author  was  the  writer  of  the  Bath  Guide ,  and 


A  BRILLIANT  SUCCESS 


97 


another  to  attributing  it  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  ladies  of 
quality  were  attributing  it  to  gentlemen  of  quality, 
and  Mr.  Boswell,  without  reading  it  or  knowing  any¬ 
thing  about  it,  was  prepared  to  announce  that  its 
author  was  Dr.  Johnson:  but  everyone  knew  the 
value  of  Mr.  Boswell’s  judgment  on  such  matters. 

But  there  they  were — all  talking  it  into  success, 
just  as  people,  thirty  years  later,  were  doing  in  regard 
to  the  anonymous  Waver  ley.  We  hear  that  the 
lovely  Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  Mrs.  Margaret  Woffing¬ 
ton’s  sister  Polly,  who  had  married  the  son  of  Lord 
Cholmondeley,  talked  enthusiastically  to  Dr.  Johnson 
about  the  book,  announcing  her  intention  of  finding 
out  the  name  of  the  author  if  she  had  to  canvass  all 
London  for  it  ;  and  Dr.  Burney  was  sitting  at  the 
table  while  Johnson  told  all  this,  and  yet  he  was 
unable  to  say  the  word  that  would  shorten  the 
honourable  but  somewhat  tedious  quest  on  which 
the  lady  meant  to  start.  Later  we  hear  that  the 
same  charming  person  had  been  singing  the  praises 
of  the  book  into  the  ear  of  Edmund  Burke  and  the 
ear-trumpet  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and  so  potent 
an  advocate  of  it  did  she  prove  that  they  both  bought 
the  book,  and  the  one  neglected  his  dinner  in  order 
to  read  it,  and  the  other  his  night’s  sleep.  Mrs. 
Thrale  probably  heard  her  name  suggested  as  the 
writer,  and  so  made  haste  to  buy  a  copy,  if  only  to 
see  whether  she  should  feel  flattered  or  the  opposite. 
She  passed  on  her  copy  to  Johnson,  and  he,  generous 
as  usual  to  anything  that  appealed  to  him,  gave  it 

such  praise  as  must  have  made  Mrs.  Thrale  wish 

8 


98 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


that  she  had  indeed  written  it.  With  Mrs.  Thrale’s 
account  of  how  Johnson  talked  of  it,  we  get  a  glimpse 
of  the  true  Johnson — quite  a  different  person  from 
the  Johnson  of  Boswell.  He  called  out  impatiently 
for  the  second  volume,  laughing  at  his  impatience  and 
declaring,  “  I  cannot  get  rid  of  the  rogue.”  Fanny 
Burney  fills  pages  of  her  Diary  at  this  time  in 
recording  all  the  good  things  people  said  about  her 
Evelina  ;  but  there  is  no  suggestion  of  vanity  in 
anything  she  records — nothing  but  the  artless  delight 
of  a  schoolgirl  who  has  won  a  prize  for  lawn-tennis 
or  something  not  scholastic.  She  is  in  the  highest 
spirits  while  she  rushes  through  page  after  page  of 
her  Diary,  and  she  makes  us  feel  that  she  never 
had  such  intense  enjoyment  in  her  life  as  when 
she  was  recording  the  delightful  things  that  people 
were  saying  about  her  book.  There  is  no  reticence 
in  any  page — no  mere  hinting  that  certain  people  were 
pleased,  but  there  is  certainly  no  display  of  vanity, 
or  of  that  product  of  vanity,  false  humility.  She 
does  not  pretend  to  be  ashamed  to  repeat  the  most 
exuberant  praise  that  was  given  to  the  story  by  the 
best  critics — all  is  natural,  innocent,  girlish,  delightful 
to  read.  She  is  ready  to  dance  “  Nancy  Dawson  ”  on 
the  grass  plot  at  Chessington  as  she  had  danced  it 
when  a  girl,  with  her  cap  on  the  ground,  her  hair 
streaming  down  her  back,  one  shoe  off  and  throwing 
about  her  head  like  a  mad  thing — Crisp’s  account  of 
this  feat  appears  in  a  letter  to  her  reminding  her  of 
it — but  she  seems  to  have  contented  herself  by  danc- 
ing  a  girl’s  jig  round  the  old  mulberry-tree  on  the 


A  BRILLIANT  SUCCESS 


99 


lawn.  Years  afterward,  when  no  doubt  they  were 
exchanging  opinions  on  the  subject  of  the  delights  of 
an  anonymous  success,  she  told  this  story  to  Sir 
Walter  Scott  and  he  noted  it  in  his  Journal. 

And  all  this  time  neither  her  father  nor  her  Daddy 
Crisp  had  any  notion  that  the  book  about  which  they 
and  their  friends  were  talking  was  written  by  her. 
The  story  of  how  the  news  was  broken  to  them  is  one 
of  the  most  interesting  of  the  incidents  connected  with 
the  publication  of  Evelina. 

While  the  first  three  editions  of  the  book,  consist¬ 
ing  in  all  of  2,300  copies,  were  being  sold  off,  the 
author  was  lying  in  bed  suffering  from  inflammation 
of  the  lungs,  and  when  in  May  she  was  able  to  move 
to  Chessington,  she  could  scarcely  walk  a  dozen  yards 
without  support.  She  recovered  rapidly,  however, 
under  the  influence  of  the  invigorating  rumours  that 
were  conveyed  to  her  of  the  stir  the  book  was 
making  in  the  world.  The  news  even  travelled  to 
the  house  of  the  recluse  at  Chessington,  and  he  made 
some  remark  about  it.  Then  Sister  Susan,  one  of  the 
original  conspirators,  brought  two  of  the  volumes  with 
her  when  she  paid  a  visit  to  Fanny,  and  Crisp  read 
them,  and  was  so  interested  that  he  begged  of  her,  in 
the  presence  of  Mrs.  Burney,  to  send  on  the  other 
volume.  Fanny  felt  that  she  looked  self-conscious, 
and  Susan  certainly  did  look  foolish.  As  she  sat  on 
the  same  sofa  as  Crisp,  the  author  was  able  to  hint  to 
him,  by  means  of  a  “gentle  shove,”  she  tells  us,  that 
he  was  not  to  pursue  the  subject.  This  mystified  the 
old  man,  but  the  inquisitorial  stepmother  was  ready 


100 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


to  interpret  the  hint.  “  Evelina — what’s  that,  pray?  ” 
she  inquired,  “darting  forward.”  Again  Mr.  Crisp 
got  a  nudge,  and  now,  thoroughly  perplexed,  anxious 
to  avoid  getting  anybody  into  a  scrape,  though  he 
could  not  see  how  anything  that  he  had  said  could 
compromise  any  one,  he  could  only  mumble  that 
Evelina  was  a  novel — “a  trumpery  novel,”  got  from 
a  circulating  library,  he  supposed.  “  You  have  it 
here  then  ?  ”  continued  the  watchful  mother,  “  Yes, 
two  of  the  volumes,”  replied  Crisp.  In  a  moment  she 
turned  upon  Fanny.  “  What,  had  you  them  from 
the  library?”  she  demanded.  “No,  ma’am,  from  my 
sister,”  replied  Fanny,  “  horribly  frightened  ” ;  and 
this  was  the  truth,  she  explains  in  her  Diary,  for 
Susan  had  bought  a  set  on  the  day  of  publication. 

So  a  premature  revelation  was  averted,  but  Fanny 
was  not  quite  sure  that  her  stepmother  did  not  think 
that  there  was  some  mystery  in  the  air.  But  she 
had  no  time  to  dwell  upon  the  point,  for  Mr.  Crisp, 
when  Mrs.  Burney  had  departed,  had  to  be  satisfied 
respecting  the  meaning  of  those  nudges ;  but  the  two 
girls  had  by  now  become  adepts  in  all  the  arts  of 
tergiversation,  and  they  contrived  to  put  him  off  the 
scent  of  the  truth. 

A  few  days  later,  however,  Charlotte  wrote 
acquainting  Fanny  with  the  fact  that  by  some  means 
their  father  had  come  to  suspect  that  she  had  written 
it ;  for  on  the  very  day  that  Susan  and  her  mother 
had  paid  that  visit  to  Chessington,  he  had  sent 
for  a  copy  of  the  Monthly  Review  that  contained  a 
criticism  of  Evelina ,  and  after  reading  this  “  with 


A  BRILLIANT  SUCCESS 


101 


great  earnestness,  put  it  down,  and  presently  after, 
snatched  it  up  and  read  it  again.  .  .  .  Soon  after  he 
turned  to  Charlotte,  and  bidding  her  come  close  to 
him,  he  put  his  finger  on  the  word  Evelina ,  and 
saying,  she  knew  what  it  was ,  bade  her  write  down 
the  name,  and  send  the  man  to  Lowndes,  as  if  for 
himself,  and  away  went  William.  .  .  .  When  William 
returned  he  took  the  books  from  him,  and  the  moment 
he  was  gone,  opened  the  first  volume,  and  opened  it 
upon  the  Ode!" 

He  saw  at  once  that  the  ode  was  addressed  to 
himself.  The  tears  came  to  his  eyes,  and  through 
his  tears  he  perceived  the  truth — that  the  daughter 
to  whom  he  had  usually  alluded  as  “poor  Fanny” — 
the  one  child  of  his  who  had  shown  no  promise  of 
developing  any  of  the  family  cleverness — the  one 
whose  education  had  been  so  completely  neglected — 
the  one  whose  silly  bashfulness  had  kept  her  at  all 
times  far  in  the  background  of  every  scene  that 
took  place  in  St.  Martin’s  Street,  was  the  writer 
of  the  book  about  which  all  his  patrons  and,  more 
important  still,  his  patronesses,  were  talking.  His 
“poor  Fanny”  was,  all  unknown  to  them,  the  object 
of  the  search  of  Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  Mrs.  Thrale, 
and  the  rest  of  the  literary  society  ladies  who  had 
vowed  to  discover  the  author  of  Evelina  if  they 
should  have  to  go  round  all  London  to  accomplish 
this  purpose!  His  amazement  must  have  been  great. 
He  must  have  felt  that  he  was  the  father  of  quite 
a  different  daughter  from  any  of  those  whom  he  had 
known  before.  He  was  like  a  man  who  has  grown 


102 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


middle-aged  before  he  has  become  aware  of  the  fact 
that  he  is  the  father  of  a  grown-up  daughter. 

The  letter  which  Fanny  wrote  to  him  on  learning 
that  he  had  made  the  discovery  is  a  model  of  the 
dutiful  letter  which  might  be  expected  to  come  from 
her  in  the  circumstances.  It  would  appear  that  she 
wrote  it  in  reply  to  one  which  she  received  from  him, 
and  we  may  be  sure  that  his  was  also  a  model  in  its 
way.  In  it  he  had  expressed  the  intention  of  reveal¬ 
ing  the  truth  to  Mrs.  Thrale — he  was  in  the  habit  of 
going  weekly  to  the  Thrales’,  at  Streatham,  to  give 
music-lessons  to  the  eldest  girl,  known  as  Queenie  ; 
and  in  her  reply  Fanny  declared  that  the  idea  of 
telling  this  great  lady,  whom  she  called  in  a  letter 
to  Susy  “the  goddess  of  my  idolatry,”  had  quite 
terrified  her.  Her  fear  was  that  if  Mrs.  Thrale  knew 
it  she  might  fancy  that  the  Burney  family  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  meeting  some  very  shady  types  of 
society,  if  she  took  it  for  granted  that  the  characters 
in  Evelina  had  been  portrayed  from  the  author’s 
associates. 

She  might  have  trusted  to  her  father’s  tact  to 
prevent  so  gross  an  assumption  on  the  part  of  the 
brewer’s  wife.  Had  not  Mrs.  Thrale  met  both 
Dr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Greville  at  the  Burneys’  house? 
and  surely  with  such  guarantors  of  respectability  the 
most  fastidious  lady  could  -have  had  no  fears  of  the 
nature  of  those  suggested  by  Miss  Burney. 

And  happily  for  the  world  Mrs.  Thrale  heard  the 
news  without  a  shudder.  She  was  delighted  to  be 
the  first  of  the  circle  to  be  made  acquainted  with 


A  BRILLIANT  SUCCESS 


103 


the  secret,  and  she  insisted  on  Dr.  Burney’s  bringing 
his  clever  daughter  out  to  Streatham  Hall  with  him. 
We  have  a  suspicion  that  so  little  attention  had  she 
previously  paid  to  this  particular  member  of  the  house¬ 
hold,  that,  had  Fanny  come  into  the  room,  she  would 
not  have  known  her.  But  Dr.  Burney  complied  with 
her  request,  with  the  result  that  Mrs.  Thrale  and  her 
visitors  are  now  the  best  known  of  any  eighteenth- 
century  circle.  Fanny  Burney  revealed  to  the 
world  the  true  Dr.  Johnson;  for  Fanny  Burney 
was  a  minute  observer  by  instinct,  while  Boswell’s 
power  of  observation  was  about  equal  to  that  of  a 
sheep,  though  as  a  recorder  he  produced  a  book 
which,  if  read  with  a  constant  remembrance  of  the 
character  of  the  writer  and  a  constant  acquaintance 
with  his  way  of  looking  at  things,  is  invaluable. 

The  father  and  daughter  met  at  Chessington  for 
the  first  time  on  a  footing  that  quite  precluded  his 
alluding  to  her  as  “  poor  Fanny.”  The  last  allusion 
that  he  made  to  her  in  this  character  was  in  revealing 
the  great  secret  to  Mr.  Crisp  ;  and,  as  usual,  we  are 
indebted  to  his  daughter  for  a  finished  vignette  of 
the  scene,  although  she  herself  only  observed  it 
through  a  crack  in  the  door,  so  to  speak. 

“  Sunday  evening,  as  I  was  going  into  my  father’s 
room,  I  heard  him  say,  ‘  The  variety  of  characters — 
the  variety  of  scenes — and  the  language — why,  she 
has  had  very  little  education  but  what  she  has  given 
herself — less  than  any  of  the  others !  ’  and  Mr.  Crisp 
exclaimed,  ‘Wonderful  —  it’s  wonderful!’  I  now 
found  what  was  going  forward,  and  therefore  deemed 


104 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


it  most  fitting  to  decamp.  About  an  hour  after,  as 
I  was  passing  through  the  hall,  I  met  my  daddy 
[Crisp].  His  face  was  all  animation  and  archness  ; 
he  doubled  his  fist  at  me,  and  would  have  stopped 
me,  but  I  ran  past  him  into  the  parlour.  Before 
supper,  however,  I  again  met  him,  and  he  would 
not  suffer  me  to  escape ;  he  caught  both  my  hands 
and  looked  as  if  he  would  have  looked  me  through, 
and  then  exclaimed,  ‘  Why,  you  little  hussy — you 
young  devil — aren’t  you  ashamed  to  look  me  in  the 
face,  you  Evelina ,  you !  Why,  what  a  dance  you 
have  led  me  about  it!  Young  friend,  indeed!  Oh, 
you  little  hussy  !  What  tricks  have  you  served  me  !  ’  ” 

A  delightful  picture  indeed!  It  brings  before  us 
in  very  few  touches  the  figure  of  the  old  man  making 
his  faces  and  shaking  his  fists  at  the  blushing,  laughing 
girl,  who  had  as  little  in  common  with  the  female 
novel-writers  of  the  day  as  her  book  had  with  their 
books,  and  we  feel  that  Mr.  Crisp’s  gruff  playfulness 
becomes  more  gruff  every  moment  only  in  his  efforts 
to  keep  back  his  tears. 

Fanny  Burney  never  showed  herself  to  be  a  truer 
artist  than  when  she  was  giving  the  details  of  a  simple 
scene.  In  this  respect,  few  writers  in  English  have 
surpassed  her. 


THE  REWARDS  OF  SUCCESS 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE  REWARDS  OF  SUCCESS 

MRS.  THRALE  had  made  up  her  mind  to  do  a 
little  “blanketing”  of  those  of  her  friends  who 
were  seeking  to  get  to  the  windward  of  her  in  the 
matter  of  the  great  secret.  She  meant  to  show  the 
enthusiastic  Mrs.  Cholmondeley  that  competition 
with  her  on  a  literary  question  was  quite  futile.  She 
determined  to  place  herself  in  a  position  not  only  to 
say  that  she  had  discovered  the  identity  of  the 
author  of  Evelina ,  but  that  this  very  person  had 
paid  her  a  visit  ;  so  she  laid  it  on  Dr.  Burney,  when 
he  was  leaving  her  house  after  making  the  disclosure 
to  her,  to  call  at  Streatham  for  dinner  when  he  would 
be  carrying  his  daughter  back  to  town  from  Chess- 
ington  ;  and  meantime  she  sent  the  daughter  some 
excellent,  if  perhaps  somewhat  premature,  advice 
on  the  subject  of  writing  a  comedy. 

Dr.  Burney  found  that  he  had  not  overestimated 
the  possible  advantages  to  be  derived  from  the  Thrale 
connection.  Excellent  father  that  he  was,  he  showed 
himself  to  be  at  all  times  ready  to  make  the  best 
of  both  worlds — the  world  of  the  wealthy  and  the 
world  of  the  wise  ;  but  where,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
Thrales,  the  two  were  found  in  combination,  a  far 

107 


108 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


more  fastidious  parent  could  have  no  misgiving.  He 
brought  the  trembling  Fanny  to  the  great  patroness, 
and  he  no  doubt  felt  delighted  to  think  that  his 
acquiescence  was  twice  blest  :  it  conferred  upon  the 
seeker  after  celebrities  a  distinction  that  she  coveted, 
and  upon  the  Burney  family  the  privilege  of  a  friend¬ 
ship  which  he  estimated  highly,  but  not  nearly  so 
highly  as  he  would  have  had  reason  to  do,  had  he 
been  able  to  look  into  the  future 

“The  most  consequential  day  I  have  spent  since 
my  birth,”  Fanny  Burney  termed  the  day  of  her 
first  visit  to  Streatham,  and  so  the  world  is  now 
disposed  to  term  it,  after  reading  the  incomparable 
accounts  given  in  her  Diary  of  Streatham  Hall  and 
its  people.  To  make  any  attempt  to  compress  within 
the  compass  of  a  single  chapter  the  pages  which  she 
wrote  describing  with  a  vividness  and  a  vigour 
that  none  of  her  contemporaries  could  equal,  the 
days  spent  at  this  hospitable  house,  could  only 
result  in  failure.  We  can  only  repeat  that 
readers  are  indebted  to  her  for  the  most  faithful 
portraits  available  of  some  of  the  most  notable  groups 
of  eighteenth-century  personages.  And  her  portraits 
are  all  speaking  ones :  the  transcripts  which  she 
gives  of  the  conversations  around  the  table  in  the 
dining-room — when  Dr.  Johnson  gave  any  one  else 
a  chance  of  speaking — may,  we  feel,  be  accepted 
without  reserve — without  the  necessity  for  being 
strictly  “censored”  by  the  reflection  that  they  were 
made  by  some  one  whose  point  of  view  was  not 
always  the  rational  one.  Every  one  knows  that  the 


THE  REWARDS  OF  SUCCESS 


109 


worst  of  all  reports  of  a  conversation  is  the  baldly 
verbatim  one.  This  is  how  it  comes  that  such  a 
report  of  the  evidence  given  in  a  Court  of  Law  often 
compels  a  reader  to  arrive  at  quite  a  different  con¬ 
clusion  from  that  come  to  by  the  jury.  But  when 
the  descriptive  reporter  deals  with  the  business, 
although  he  may  only  give  a  few  lines  to  it,  he  usually 
presents  it  in  a  new  light  that  enables  every  one  to 
see  how  the  verdict  is  not  only  possible  but  inevitable. 

It  is  this  power  of  judging  comparative  values  that 
Fanny  Burney  possessed  to  an  extraordinary  degree 
and  that  makes  her  records  so  valuable.  There 
was  a  notable  gallery  of  portraits  at  Streatham 
painted  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  The  wealthy 
brewer  posed  as  a  patron  of  art  in  this  way,  and  he 
did  so  on  the  least  expensive  lines  :  he  got  the 
pictures  painted  and  then  left  his  widow  to  pay  for 
them.  Notable  portraits  of  notable  people  they 
were  all ;  but  not  more  interesting  than  the  literary 
portraits  painted  by  the  observant  young  woman 
who  was  so  frequent  a  guest  at  the  same  place. 

Mrs.  Thrale  was  greatly  attached  to  Miss  Burney, 
not  merely  by  reason  of  the  prestige  which  accrued 
to  herself  from  such  a  friendship,  but  also  on  account 
of  the  personal  charm  of  Miss  Burney.  Undoubtedly 
Mrs.  Thrale  liked  the  worship  of  such  as  Fanny,  and 
undoubtedly  Fanny  continued  to  worship  her  whom 
she  had  once  styled  her  goddess ;  but  that  there 
existed  between  them  a  friendship  founded  on  some¬ 
thing  warmer  and  worthier  than  the  conditions  that 
prevail  between  the  adorer  and  the  adored  there 


110 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


can  equally  be  no  doubt.  For  years  after  the 
separation  between  them  had  come  Fanny  Burney 
referred  to  it  with  unfeigned  sorrow,  and  Mrs.  Thrale 
(then  Madame  Piozzi)  was  on  her  side  equally 
grieved  that  any  severance  should  take  place  in 
their  friendship,  but  more  especially  that  it  should 
have  happened  by  reason  of  an  incident  that  she 
thought  should  have  had  a  very  different  effect. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  refer  even  in  the  briefest 
way  to  the  connection  of  Fanny  Burney  with  Mrs. 
Thrale  without  referring  to  the  origin  of  the  breach  in 
the  friendship  between  the  two,  which  was,  we 
need  scarcely  say,  the  second  marriage  of  the  elder 
lady. 

On  this  matter,  at  the  risk  of  being  accused  of 
making  the  name  of  Boswell  our  Delenda  est 
Carthago ,  we  must  point  out  that  the  prejudice 
which  for  many  years  has  existed  in  the  minds  of 
general  readers  of  eighteenth-century  records  against 
Mrs.  Thrale  on  account  of  what  has  actually  been 
styled  her  foolish  second  marriage,  is  largely  due  to 
the  comments  made  by  Boswell  with  his  usual  smirk. 
He  hated  Mrs.  Thrale  at  all  times,  but  never  with 
so  thorough  a  hatred  as  when  he  found  that  she  had 
forestalled  him  with  a  Life  of  Johnson  which,  when 
his  own  was  published,  was  pronounced  by  the  most 
competent  critics  to  be  the  better  work ;  and  he 
never  lost  an  opportunity  of  sneering  at  her.  But 
in  regard  to  this  particular  incident  he  is  to  be 
pardoned,  the  fact  being  that  he  was  only  following 
the  lead  of  his  great  Mentor,  who,  after  being  royally 


THE  REWARDS  OF  SUCCESS 


111 


entertained  for  years  by  Mrs.  Thrale,  grossly  insulted 
her  in  a  letter  which  stands  to  his  everlasting  detri¬ 
ment  in  the  eyes  of  all  people  whose  eyes  have  not 
been  blinded  by  Boswell. 

Any  one  who  reviews  the  whole  circumstances 
connected  with  the  second  marriage  of  Mrs.  Thrale 
must  see  that  her  choice  of  Signor  Piozzi  was  a  wise 
one.  Piozzi  was  a  man  of  refinement  and  culture — the 
leading  exponent  of  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  arts 
— a  man  of  the  greatest  integrity  and  of  un¬ 
blemished  honour.  Henry  Thrale  was  far  less 
worthy  of  respect.  He  had  inherited  a  brewery 
from  his  father,  but  proved  so  incompetent  a 
tradesman  that  he  had  twice  to  be  rescued  from 
bankruptcy  by  his  wife.  He  lived  the  life  of  a 
glutton  and  he  died  the  death  of  a  glutton,  and  by 
his  will  cheated  his  widow  out  of  the  money  that 
should  have  been  hers  by  every  law  of  equity.  On 
what  principle,  then,  Johnson  and  the  rest  of  the 
circle  whom  she  had  befriended  for  years  should 
pronounce  her  marriage  with  a  man  who  was  a  pleas¬ 
ing  contrast  to  Thrale,  a  disgrace,  it  is  difficult  for  us 
to  say  nowadays.  The  explanation  that  is  open 
for  the  cynical  to  adopt  is  that  when  nothing  more 
was  to  be  got  out  of  Mrs.  Thrale  they  turned  round 
and  abused  her.  So  we  may  hear  the  expectant 
nephews  and  nieces  of  a  wealthy  uncle  inveigh  against 
him  for  being  so  foolish — they  regard  it  as  criminal 
— as  to  marry  and  beget  a  family. 

But  it  shows  how  enormous  was  the  influence 
possessed  by  Johnson  when  we  find  that  quite  a 


112 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


number  of  people  adopted  his  view  of  the  marriage. 
Dr.  Burney  could  hardly,  as  a  musician  himself,  do 
more  than  shake  his  head  at  the  union  of  the  lady 
with  Piozzi ;  but  he  shook  his  head — when  the  lady 
was  not  looking,  so  to  speak.  He  did  not,  however, 
go  so  far  as  to  assume  such  an  attitude  as  made 
it  impossible  for  him  to  meet  her  on  quite  friendly 
terms  when  she  returned  to  England  from  Italy 
with  her  husband.  But  his  daughter  had  not 
been  quite  so  far-seeing,  there  is  every  reason  to 
believe.  She  felt  shocked  that  any  lady  should  so 
far  forget  herself  as  to  marry  a  foreigner  and  a 
Roman  Catholic.  That  was  in  the  year  1784. 
In  the  year  1793  she  herself  married  a  Roman 
Catholic  and  a  foreigner!  If  any  reconciliation 
was  needed  between  her  and  Madame  Piozzi  after 
their  separation,  it  was  easily  effected. 

Two  remarks  remain  to  be  made  in  connection 
with  Fanny  Burney  and  the  Streatham  influence. 
The  first  is  that  if  Mrs.  Thrale  and  she  had  not 
parted  as  they  did,  it  is  extremely  unlikely  that  she 
would  have  been  allowed  to  enter  the  service  of  the 
Queen.  The  counsel  of  Mrs.  Thrale  would  have 
been  adverse  to  such  a  move  on  the  part  of  such  a 
woman.  The  second  is  that  if  Fanny  Burney  had 
not  been  subjected  to  the  overwhelming  literary 
influence  of  Dr.  Johnson  day  by  day  when  in  his 
company  at  Streatham,  her  second  and  third  novels 
would  not  have  suffered  as  they  did  through  her 
attempt — conscious  or  unconscious — to  emulate  his 
style.  The  exact  truth  is  that  Cecilia  exhibits 


THE  REWARDS  OF  SUCCESS 


113 


Fanny  Burney’s  high-minded  emulation  of  the  style 
of  Johnson,  that  Camilla  exhibits  her  parodying 
the  style  of  Johnson,  and  that  all  her  other  writings, 
including  the  Memoirs  of  her  father,  exhibit  her  un¬ 
conscious  burlesque  of  the  style  of  Johnson.  Only 
in  her  Diaries  does  she  remain  almost  without  change, 
the  natural,  pleasant  Fanny  Burney  from  whose  pen 
Evelina  flowed  without  a  thought  of  style  or  periods 
or  balance  of  sentences.  And  if  we  are  inclined  to 
deplore  the  effect  of  the  great  man’s  mode  of  writing 
upon  her,  we  cannot  honestly  say  that  we  have 
succeeded  in  discerning  in  anything  that  she  produced 
under  this  influence  any  increase  of  the  more 
important  elements  in  her  writings — thoughtfulness, 
keenness  of  characterisation,  knowledge  of  men 
and  women  and  their  impulses  and  emotions — in 
short,  we  fail  to  discern  in  her  writings  any  of  that 
wisdom  which  one  might  reasonably  look  for,  knowing 
how  close  was  her  intimacy  with  the  great  man,  and 
which,  were  it  found,  would  more  than  compensate 
for  the  degeneration  of  her  technique  as  an  artist 
through  his  influence.  Crisp  had  been  a  far 
safer  guide  to  her ;  but  what  chance  had  Crisp  when 
the  influence  of  Johnson  was  at  work? 

On  the  whole,  then,  we  are  inclined  to  believe  that 
the  actual  gain  to  Fanny  Burney  from  the  Streatham 
intimacy  was  small,  though  the  gain  to  the  readers  of 
her  Diary  during  the  six  years  that  she  remained  in 
almost  constant  association  with  Mrs.  Thrale  and 
her  circle  of  celebrities  is  great.  In  the  pages  of  her 
Diary  we  are  brought  in  contact  with  character  after 

9 


114 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


character,  all  drawn  with  vigour  and  liveliness — with 
subtle  touches  of  comedy  and  incomparable  brightness 
of  dialogue — all  the  qualities  that  would  have  gone  to 
the  building  of  a  novel  of  far  greater  value  than 
Evelina  itself.  Here  one  might  reasonably  say  that 
she  was  receiving  her  education  in  the  world  of  men 
and  women,  to  fit  her  for  the  production  of  a  master¬ 
piece.  Previously  she  had  been  the  bashful,  backward 
girl,  seeing  only  a  little  world,  and  almost  afraid  to 
notice  anything  lest  she  might  be  thought  too  bold. 

And  yet  we  find  that  the  one  book  which  she  wrote 
in  the  midst  of  the  mind-enlarging  scenes  at  Streatham 
and  with  an  eminent  critic  at  her  elbow,  contains 
little  that  is  worthy  of  comparison  with  the  one  which 
she  had  written  by  snatches  in  her  closet  at  home  ; 
and  the  third,  which  was  only  produced  after  an 
interval  of  fourteen  years — fourteen  years  of  increased 
knowledge  of  the  world,  of  association  with  various 
characters  of  amazing  interest  and  of  scenes  of  extra¬ 
ordinary  value  to  a  writer — is  dull  because  it  is  unreal, 
and  unreadable  because  it  is  not  the  work  of  a  woman 
writing  with  her  own  pen,  but  with  the  cumbersome 
stylus  of  some  one  quite  different  from  herself. 

Nothing  more  extraordinary  than  all  this  is  to  be 
found  in  the  annals  of  our  literature ;  and  certainly 
nothing  that  proves  more  forcibly  that  the  best  quali¬ 
fication  for  the  production  of  a  work  of  imagination  is 
imagination — that  the  best  style  in  which  a  work  can 
be  written  is  one  that  is  not  formed  by  study  or  educa¬ 
tion  or  taking  thought  for  words  or  phrases,  but  that 
comes  naturally  when  one  dips  one’s  pen  in  the  ink 


THE  REWARDS  OF  SUCCESS 


115 


in  order  to  set  down  what  one  must  set  down,  without 
a  thought  as  to  what  other  people  will  say  about  it. 
Fanny  Burney  became  a  victim  to  the  thought  of  what 
other  people  would  say  about  her  writing,  and  this 
habit  she  acquired  at  Streatham.  So  long  as  she 
did  not  think  about  other  people  she  wrote  well. 

While  she  was  in  attendance  upon  Mrs.  Thrale 
during  the  first  year  after  the  publication  of  Evelina , 
she  was  making  the  acquaintance  of  a  large  number 
of  interesting  people,  among  whom  was  Richard 
Brinsley  Sheridan  ;  and  he  expressed  his  surprise  that 
she  had  not  yet  written  a  comedy.  He  gave  her  every 
encouragement  to  do  so,  and  she,  not  knowing  how 
little  the  encouragement  of  such  a  man  amounted  to, 
felt  flattered.  But  other  people  had  also  been  follow¬ 
ing  the  lead  of  Mrs.  Thrale  in  giving  advice  in  this 
direction,  and  the  result  was  that,  as  soon  as  she  found 
time,  she  sat  down  to  the  serious  work  of  writing  a 
comedy.  She  called  it  The  Witlings;  and  several 
people  who  read  it  expressed  themselves  delighted 
with  it.  Crisp  was  not  one  of  them.  Both  he  and 
her  father  agreed  that  the  play  bore  too  close  a 
resemblance  to  Moliere’s  Les  Femmes  Savantes  to 
allow  of  its  being  ever  put  into  the  hands  of  a 
manager.  Dramatists  were  clearly  expected  in  those 
days  to  be  scrupulously  original ;  and  Mr.  Sheridan, 
who,  Fanny  thought,  would  be  living  in  a  sort  of 
delighted  impatience  to  produce  it,  had  the  news 
broken  to  him  gently.  He  had  not  really  forgotten 
all  about  it,  and  he  may  have  been  greatly  dis¬ 
appointed.  The  way  in  which  Fanny  accepted  the 


116 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


verdict  of  Crisp  in  regard  to  the  comedy  shows  that 
she  had  not  been  spoilt  by  the  success  of  her  novel. 
“  I  won’t  be  mortified,  and  I  won’t  be  downed ;  but  I 
will  be  proud  to  find  I  have,  out  of  my  own  family  as 
well  as  in  it,  a  friend  who  loves  me  well  enough  to 
speak  plain  truth  to  me.” 

But  all  the  time  that  she  was  working  at  her  comedy 
she  was  thinking  out  the  plot  of  a  new  novel,  and  had 
even  begun  to  write  ;  but  the  distractions  of  Streatham 
and  the  persistence  with  which  Mrs.  Thrale  compelled 
her  attendance  at  Brighton,  Bath,  and  elsewhere  pre¬ 
vented  her  from  making  any  great  progress  with  it. 
She  was  even  neglecting  her  own  family  and  Mr. 
Crisp.  Her  father  had  good  reason  to  grumble.  He 
was  constantly  urging  her  to  set  to  work  in  a  regular 
way.  She  was  writing  at  Cecilia  during  the  latter 
part  of  1780,  and  in  the  February  of  the  next  year  she 
was  at  it  while  at  Chessington,  but  her  heart  was  not 
in  her  work.  “  I  shall  always  hate  this  book  which 
has  kept  me  so  long  away  from  you,”  she  wrote  to 
Mrs.  Thrale  ;  and  in  a  week  or  two  she  had  thrown 
aside  her  MS.  and  hurried  up  to  town  to  be  once  more 
with  her  exacting  friend.  Before  two  months  had 
passed  she  had  a  valid  excuse — if  she  needed  one — for 
neglecting  everything  in  favour  of  Mrs.  Thrale,  for 
this  lady  had  become  a  widow,  and  needed  com¬ 
panionship  of  a  congenial  nature. 

Why  Miss  Burney  should  not  be  able  to  devote 
some  hours  a  day  to  the  completion  of  her  novel  while 
at  Streatham  has  never  been  revealed ;  but  it  was 
necessary  for  Crisp  himself  to  go  to  this  Castle  of 


THE  REWARDS  OF  SUCCESS 


117 


Indolence  and  carry  her  off  with  him  to  Chessington — 
her  father’s  remonstrances  had  proved  quite  ineffec¬ 
tual — in  order  to  prepare  the  novel  for  the  press.  But 
with  all,  it  was  well  on  in  1782 — four  years  after  the 
publication  of  Evelina — when  Cecilia  appeared.  The 
selling  of  this  book  was  not  left  in  the  hands  of  the 
author.  Her  father  negotiated  for  it  with  a  new 
publisher,  and  Mr.  Lowndes  found  that  even  his 
generosity  in  sending  Fanny  another  ^10  in  addition 
to  the  £ 20  that  he  had  originally  paid  for  Evelina 
did  not  impress  Dr.  Burney  sufficiently  to  induce 
him  to  let  the  new  book  go  on  the  old  terms.  Mr. 
Lowndes  was  greatly  hurt,  and  had  the  impudence 
to  complain  of  his  treatment,  which  appeared  to  him 
the  more  flagrant  inasmuch  as  he  had  been  compelled 
to  pay  over  £yo  for  the  plates  for  his  illustrated 
edition  of  Evelina !  Why  the  fact  of  his  having 
paid  to  the  artists  more  than  double  the  price  that 
he  paid  to  the  author,  after  he  had  first  made  at  least 

1,500  by  her  work,  is  difficult  for  one  not  educated 
in  these  delicate  questions  between  authors  and 
publishers  to  understand.  We  should  rather  feel 
inclined  to  think  of  Mr.  Lowndes  as  a  poor  business 
man.  The  supplementary  £\o  which  he  had  sent  for 
Evelina  was  a  very  small  sprat  indeed  with  which 
to  hope  to  catch  the  salmon  Cecilia. 

The  new  novel  was  received  with  enthusiasm  on  all 
sides.  This  is  Mrs.  Thrale’s  criticism  of  it  when  she 
was  reading  it  in  MS.  :  “  My  eyes  red  with  reading 
and  crying,  I  stop  every  moment  to  kiss  the  book  and 
wish  it  were  my  Burney  !  ’Tis  the  sweetest  book,  the 


118 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


most  interesting,  the  most  engaging.  Oh !  it  beats 
every  other  book,  even  your  own  other  volumes. 
Evelina  was  a  baby  to  it.”  And  it  seemed  as  if  little 
Miss  Burney  was  going  to  enrich  the  English  language 
by  her  contributions  to  its  imaginative  literature. 
There  were  some  people,  however,  who  thought  that 
they  perceived  the  hand  of  Dr.  Johnson  in  many 
passages,  and  Macaulay  was  not  one  to  blame  them  ; 
for,  writing  years  afterward,  he  affirmed  his  belief  that 
Johnson  had  actually  put  some  work  into  the  book, 
although  Johnson  himself  declared  most  emphatically 
that  he  had  never  so  much  as  seen  it  before  its  publica¬ 
tion.  But  it  had  become  the  fashion  to  attribute  to 
Johnson  much  of  the  work  of  other  people.  The  fact 
is  that  his  style  was  so  easy  to  imitate  that  imitators 
— conscious  as  well  as  unconscious — were  numerous, 
and  the  booksellers  found  it  to  their  advantage  to 
drop  a  hint  or  two  as  to  the  great  man’s  having  a 
finger  in  the  pies  of  some  of  their  authors.  And  when 
once  a  Jack  Horner  was  set  looking  for  plums  in  the 
form  of  interpolated  passages  from  the  great  literary 
chef,  they  were  sure  to  be  found,  especially  when  the 
author  was  doing  his  best  throughout  to  write  so  as 
to  be  mistaken  for  Johnson. 

In  spite  of  the  success  of  Cecilia ,  however,  follow¬ 
ing  on  the  success  of  Evelina — in  spite,  too,  of 
the  satisfaction  of  having  the  handling  of  such  a 
convenient  sum  as  ^250 — the  price  for  which  it 
has  been  made  clear  the  astute  Dr.  Burney  sold 
the  copyright — Fanny  Burney  did  not  show  any 
particular  eagerness  to  begin  another  novel,  and  she 


THE  REWARDS  OF  SUCCESS 


119 


was  thoroughly  discouraged  in  respect  of  a  comedy. 
She  was,  however,  still  a  central  person  in  the  best 
society,  and  seems  to  have  enjoyed  that  position. 
She  made  many  new  friends,  for  she  possessed  in 
these  years  a  faculty  for  forming  friendships,  which  was 
all  the  more  remarkable  when  one  considers  that  in 
her  girlhood,  and  even  long  after,  she  was  extremely 
retiring.  One  of  these  new  attachments  was  the 
means  of  changing  the  whole  course  of  her  life. 
Its  object  was  an  old  lady  of  eighty-two,  the  widow 
of  an  Irish  clergyman  of  some  distinction,  named 
Dr.  Delany. 


AN  IMPORTANT  CONNECTION 


, 


' 

- 


CHAPTER  IX 


AN  IMPORTANT  CONNECTION 

FANNY  BURNEY  has  done  much  to  rescue 
the  name  of  Mrs.  Delany  from  oblivion  ;  for 
though  of  an  undoubtedly  interesting  personality,  she 
played  no  part  in  the  society  of  the  four  sovereigns  in 
whose  reigns  she  lived  that  should  cause  her  to  be  re¬ 
membered  by  posterity.  She  had  been  left  in  her  early 
girlhood  in  the  charge  of  an  aunt  who  had  been  Maid 
of  Honour  to  Queen  Mary,  the  wife  of  William  III., 
and,  subsequently,  she  was  passed  on  from  this  aunt 
to  her  uncle,  Lord  Lansdowne,  and  this  nobleman, 
distinguished  by  Pope,  got  rid  of  her  as  soon  as 
possible  by  compelling  her  to  marry  a  dissolute 
Cornish  squire  more  than  three  times  her  age.  On 
the  death  of  this  worthy  she  went  to  some  friends  in 
Ireland,  where  she  met  Dean  Swift  and  the  clergyman 
who  afterward  became  her  husband.  It  was  in  1743 
that  this  event  took  place,  and  she  lived  with  him  at 
his  Deanery  in  the  County  Down  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century.  On  his  death  she  was  encouraged  to  take 
a  house  in  St.  James’s  Place  by  her  dear  friend,  the 
Dowager  Duchess  of  Portland,  and  on  meeting 
Fanny  Burney  and  becoming  interested  in  her,  they 
were  soon  on  the  friendliest  terms. 


123 


124 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


Dr.  Burney  undoubtedly  encouraged  this  intimacy 
with  the  old  lady,  for  it  was  very  well  known  that  she 
was  a  close  friend  of  the  King  and  Queen,  and  he 
knew  that  no  harm  could  come  of  such  a  connection, 
while  its  possibilities  were  many  and  alluring,  being 
speculative.  King  George  and  Queen  Charlotte  had 
such  an  admiration  for  the  old  lady  that,  when  by  the 
death  of  the  Duchess  of  Portland  she  was  cut  off  from 
the  advantages  of  a  country  house,  they  offered  her 
a  cottage  close  to  the  Castle  at  Windsor,  and  saw  that 
it  was  ready  for  her,  down  to  the  spice-boxes  in  the 
kitchen. 

But  when  Fanny  Burney  first  met  Mrs.  Delany  the 
Duchess  was  still  alive,  and  having  heard  of  the 
author  of  Evelina  from  Mrs.  Delany  and  actually  read 
Cecilia  herself,  she  very  kindly  appeared  in  the  room 
when  Fanny  was  paying  a  visit,  and,  although  she 
had  a  rooted  distaste  for  women  who  dabbled  in 
literature,  especially  fiction,  she  felt  constrained  to 
compliment  Miss  Burney  upon  the  excellent  moral 
tone  of  her  last  work.  She  pronounced  it,  writes 
Fanny  Burney — and  here  the  perfection  of  her  power 
of  observation  is  shown  in  a  phrase — she  pronounced 
it,  “  with  a  solemn  sort  of  voice,”  to  be  “striking,  pure, 
genuine  and  instructive,”  and  Fanny  felt  greatly  com¬ 
plimented.  She  records  that  the  bearing  of  the  great 
lady  was  free  from  arrogance  and  “  free  also  from  its 
mortifying  deputy,  affability.” 

Her  Grace  unbent  still  further  when  Fanny  was 
able  to  tell  her  something  about  a  gentleman  named 
Crisp,  who  had  been  regarded  in  the  Duchess’s  young 


' 


by  command  of  George  Ilk 


. 


\ 


J 


* 


AN  IMPORTANT  CONNECTION 


125 


days  as  one  of  the  most  delightful  members  of  society, 
and  Miss  Burney  was  cordially  invited  to  repeat  her 
visit. 

She  repeated  her  visit  almost  every  week  for 
considerably  over  two  years,  and  when  Mrs.  Delany 
left  London  and  took  up  her  residence  in  the  King’s 
cottage,  Fanny  frequently  came  to  her  pleasant 
parlour. 

And  now  Cecilia  had  been  published  for  three  years 
and  yet  the  author  showed  no  intention  of  starting 
another  story.  Dr.  Burney  cannot  but  have  given 
signs  of  disappointment  at  this.  He  had  every  reason 
to  do  so.  He  was  getting  on  in  years,  and  it  was  not 
to  be  expected  that  he  should  be  able  to  continue  his 
teaching  with  all  the  vigour  of  his  best  days.  Two  of 
his  daughters  had  married,  but  the  famous  one  did  not 
seem  to  have  had  more  than  an  incipient  love  affair, 
though  Mrs.  Thrale  now  and  again  professed  to  be  on 
the  look-out  for  a  husband  for  her.  Dr.  Burney  had 
every  reason  for  feeling  somewhat  uneasy  in  regard 
to  the  future  ;  and  it  may  be  that  he  unbosomed 
himself  to  good  Mrs.  Delany,  who  was  such  a  persona 
gratissima  with  the  King  and  Queen.  However  this 
may  be,  it  was  just  before  the  old  lady  had  moved 
to  Windsor  that  a  confidential  servant  of  the  King, 
Mr.  Smelt,  who  had  held  the  appointment  of  Deputy 
Governor  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  showed  a  desire  to 
become  better  acquainted  with  the  Burney  family. 
He  had  met  Dr.  Burney  and  Fanny,  but  had  not 
become  at  all  intimate  with  them  ;  but  now  he  became 
a  frequent  caller  at  St.  Martin’s  Street;  and,  curiously 


126 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


enough,  at  this  time  a  command  came  to  Dr.  Burney 
to  proceed  to  Windsor  in  order  to  inform  their 
Majesties  of  the  particulars  of  the  Handel  Commemo¬ 
ration  with  which  he  had  been  associated  in  the 
autumn  of  the  year  1784. 

Of  course  Dr.  Burney  obeyed  the  command  with 
dignified  alacrity.  He  may,  or  may  not,  have  been 
taken  entirely  by  surprise  when  the  King,  after 
discussing  Handel  with  him,  began  to  talk  of 
his  daughter  Fanny  and  the  secrecy  associated  with 
the  publication  of  her  first  book  some  years  before. 
Burney  was  thus  privileged  to  tell  the  whole  story 
of  this  transaction,  and  he  reported  to  Fanny  that 
both  the  King  and  Queen  had  been  greatly  amused 
at  it. 

(It  would  be  interesting  to  such  people  as  believe 
that  Fanny  Burney  was  sacrificed  by  her  father,  to 
know  if,  in  the  Handelian  discourse  at  this  time,  His 
Majesty  made  any  inquiry  as  to  the  opinion  of  his 
visitor  regarding  the  treatment  by  the  great  Master 
of  the  subject  oi  Jepht ha.) 

A  short  time  afterward  Fanny  went  on  a  short  visit 
to  Mrs.  Delany  at  Windsor,  and  when  sitting  quietly 
with  her  old  friend,  the  King  entered.  Now  the 
formality  of  having  his  daughters  presented  at  one 
of  the  Drawing-rooms  had  unhappily  been  omitted  by 
Dr.  Burney,  so  that  etiquette  forbade  His  Majesty 
being  made  aware  of  her  presence,  and  she  was  so 
greatly  overcome  at  the  august  intrusion  that  she 
quickly  made  him  aware  of  her  absence.  A  few  days 
later,  however,  Fanny  was  in  the  same  room,  engaged 


AN  IMPORTANT  CONNECTION 


127 


in  teaching  some  games  to  the  little  grand-niece  of 
Mrs.  Delany,  while  Mr.  Dewes,  the  child’s  father, 
and  Miss  Port,  were  assisting  in  the  lesson,  when  the 
door  of  the  drawing-room  opened,  and  “a  large  man 
in  deep  mourning  appeared  at  it,  entering  and  shutting 
it  himself  without  speaking.” 

“  A  ghost  could  not  more  have  scared  me,” 
continues  Fanny  in  describing  the  incident,  “  when 
I  discovered,  by  its  glitter  on  the  black,  a  star.” 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  intruder  was  the  King 
himself.  He  spoke  to  Mrs.  Delany,  when  she  had 
risen  to  meet  him,  and  when  Fanny  was  “  trying  to 
slide  along  the  wall  out  of  the  room,”  he  asked  of  the 
old  lady  in  a  loud  whisper,  “  Is  not  that  Miss 
Burney?”  and  “  on  her  answering,  ‘Yes,  Sir,’  he 
bowed,  and  with  a  continuance  of  the  most  perfect 
good-humour,  came  up  to  me.” 

He  addressed  a  remark  to  her,  but  she  was  too 
much  overcome  by  the  honour  to  be  able  to  make 
herself  intelligible  in  her  reply,  and  His  Majesty, 
perceiving  this,  began  to  converse  with  Mrs.  Delany 
on  the  unfailing  topic  of  all  their  healths.  His  tact 
and  Miss  Burney’s  own  sense  of  comedy  relieved  the 
situation.  She  has  set  down  all  that  came  into  her 
mind  at  the  moment.  Every  word  shows  what  an 
artist  she  was  : — 

“It  seemed  to  me  we  were  acting  a  play.  There 
is  something  so  little  like  common  and  real  life,  in 
everybody’s  standing,  while  talking  in  a  room  full  of 
chairs,  and  standing,  too,  so  aloof  from  each  other, 
that  I  almost  thought  myself  upon  a  stage,  assisting 


128 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


in  the  representation  of  a  tragedy — in  which  the  King 
played  his  own  part  of  the  King  ;  Mrs.  Delany  that 
of  a  venerable  confidante  ;  Mr.  Dewes,  his  respected 
attendant ;  Miss  Port,  a  suppliant  virgin,  waiting 
encouragement  to  bring  forward  some  petition  ;  Miss 
Dewes,  a  young  orphan,  intended  to  win  the  royal 
compassion  ;  and  myself  a  very  solemn,  sober,  and 
decent  mute.” 

When  she  had  time  to  recover  from  the  em¬ 
barrassment  the  King  revealed  himself  with  his 
oft-recurring  “  What — what  ?  ”  and  Miss  Burney, 
thinking  of  the  caricature  of  this  colloquial  mannerism 
of  his  which  had  appeared  in  the  volume  of  Proba¬ 
tionary  Odes ,  was  ready  to  burst  into  laughter — so 
she  tells  us  ;  but  we  know  that  she  really  meant  not 
laughter,  but  tears :  we  feel  that  all  through  the 
interview  she  was  never  far  removed  from  tears.  But 
the  august  monarch’s  “  good  breeding  and  considera¬ 
tion  ”  saved  her  from  yielding  to  the  attack  of  what 
may  be  called  “  basileophobia.”  His  Majesty  indeed 
showed  great  tact,  and  he  had  insight  enough  to 
enable  him  to  perceive  that  even  so  morbidly  sensitive 
a  young  woman  might  be  soothed  if  she  were  to  be 
given  a  chance  of  recalling  an  incident  in  which  she 
was  greatly  interested  ;  so  he  repeated  all  that  Dr. 
Burney  had  told  him  of  the  secret  publication  of 
Evelina — he  wanted  her  immediate  confirmation  of 
the  story.  Moreover,  he  wanted  to  know  why  she 
was  led  to  print  the  book,  and  when  she  replied  with 
some  stammering  and  hesitancy  that  it  was  because 
she  thought  it  would  look  well  in  print,  he  roared 


AN  IMPORTANT  CONNECTION 


129 


with  laughter ;  and  again  on  hearing  from  her,  in  reply 
to  a  question  as  to  whether  she  had  kept  her  pen 
unemployed,  that  she  believed  she  had  exhausted 
herself.  He  could  not  believe  that  such  a  sudden 
cessation  of  literary  work  after  two  conspicuous 
successes  was  possible,  and  a  good  many  people  since 
have  been  equally  incredulous.  It  was  subsequently 
found,  however,  that  she  had  spoken  the  truth. 

Shortly  afterward  the  Queen  entered  the  room,  and 
Miss  Burney  was  more  flustered  than  ever,  because 
she  was  too  short-sighted  to  know  whether  Her 
Majesty  had  noticed  her  or  not.  The  King,  however, 
very  tactfully  introduced  her  into  the  conversation, 
and  the  Queen  also  wished  greatly  to  know  what  was 
to  come  from  her  pen  in  the  future. 

Within  the  next  few  days  Fanny  had  met  the 
Royal  couple  again,  the  King  paying  an  evening  visit, 
and  the  Queen  calling  on  Mrs.  Delany  in  the  after¬ 
noon.  They  both  talked  upon  literature,  possibly 
in  order  to  draw  Miss  Burney  out ;  they  did  not  know 
that  they  had  introduced  a  topic  with  which  she  was 
rather  less  conversant  than  themselves. 

Now,  all  this  interest  which  they  were  showing  in 
Miss  Burney — all  the  trouble  which  they  were  taking 
to  become  acquainted  with  her — “to  see  what  was 
in  her,”  as  we  may  say,  suggests  that  Mrs.  Delany 
and  Mr.  Smelt  had  mentioned  her  name  to  the  Queen 
when  there  had  been  a  consultation  as  to  the  successor 
to  Her  Majesty’s  second  Keeper  of  the  Robes,  the 
vacancy  being  occasioned  by  the  retirement  through 
ill-health  of  a  Mrs.  Haggerdorn  from  the  post.  But 

10 


130 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


not  a  word  was  as  yet  said  to  Miss  Burney  herself 
on  the  subject — the  time  was  not  yet  ripe  for  any 
proposition  to  be  made,  and  there  were,  of  course, 
quite  a  number  of  young  women  of  good  family 
anxious  for  the  place.  It  may  be,  however,  that  the 
name  of  Miss  Burney  had  been  suggested  in  quite  a 
different  connection  :  there  were  certain  interesting 
offices  to  be  filled  up  in  the  households  of  the  young 
Princesses,  and  the  fitness  of  a  distinguished  literary 
lady  for  one  of  these  may  have  been  hinted  at  by  some 
person  of  daring  originality  of  thought. 

But  whatever  there  may  be  in  this  surmise,  it  is 
pretty  certain  that  Fanny  Burney  herself  was  unaware 
of  any  arriere-pensee  in  her  examination  before  the 
King  and  Queen  ;  and  she  went  back  to  her  home 
without  suspecting  anything.  But  she  was  soon  in 
touch  once  more  with  Royalty ;  for  the  coveted  post 
of  Leader  of  the  King’s  Band  again  became  vacant, 
and  Burney,  who  had  been  made  organist  of  Chelsea 
Hospital  by  Edmund  Burke — it  was  his  last  act 
before  vacating  the  office  of  Paymaster-General — 
was  extremely  anxious  to  have  his  claims  brought 
before  the  King. 

He  consulted  his  friend  Smelt  on  this  subject,  and 
Smelt  suggested  that  Burney  should  appear  upon  the 
Terrace  at  Windsor  Castle  on  the  next  Sunday, 
accompanied  by  his  daughter,  and  await  the  result 
of  this  delicate  hint  to  His  Majesty  that  he  had  a 
very  loyal  subject  in  the  author  of  a  History  of 
Music. 

The  Diary,  with  its  customary  grasp  of  the  elements 


AN  IMPORTANT  CONNECTION 


131 


of  a  situation,  lets  us  know  what  a  fiasco  was  the 
result  of  this  scheme.  The  truth  was  that  the  ap¬ 
pointment  had  already  been  made.  It  had  been  con¬ 
ferred,  as  before,  without  the  King’s  having  a  voice 
in  the  matter,  for  it  seemed  that  it  was  not  in 
accordance  with  Court  etiquette  for  the  Master  of  the 
King’s  Band  to  be  appointed  by  the  King.  At  a 
later  period  the  King,  during  a  lucid  interval  in  his 
malady,  told  Fanny  that  he  had  been  greatly  annoyed 
at  the  disappointment  suffered  by  her  father.  It  was 
due  to  Lord  Salisbury’s  having  given  the  post  to  that 
inferior  musician,  Parsons — he  was  afterwards  knighted 
— before  he  could  interfere. 

Fanny  felt  humiliated  in  lending  herself  to  the  scheme 
suggested  by  Mr.  Smelt.  The  Terrace  was  more  than 
usually  crowded,  and  she  would  certainly  have  escaped 
all  observation  had  not  Lady  Louisa  Clayton,  in  whose 
party  she  was,  and  who  doubtless  was  aware  of  her 
errand,  put  her  forward  so  that  she  could  not  fail 
to  be  seen  by  the  King  and  Queen,  both  of  whom 
addressed  her,  although  she  had  pulled  her  hat  down 
on  her  face  to  give  them  a  reasonable  chance  of 
allowing  her  to  remain  unnoticed.  But,  she  says, 
“  My  poor  father  .  .  .  looked  so  conscious  and  de¬ 
pressed  that  it  pained  me  to  see  him.  He  was  not 
spoken  to,  though  he  had  a  bow  every  time  the  King 
passed  him,  and  a  curtsey  from  the  Queen.  But  it 
hurt  him,  and  he  thought  it  a  very  bad  prognostic  ; 
and  all  there  was  at  all  to  build  upon  was  the  gra¬ 
ciousness  shown  to  me,  which  indeed  in  the  manner 
I  was  accosted  was  very  flattering.’’ 


132 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


Dr.  Burney  learned  the  truth  when  they  got  back 
to  London. 

This  happened  in  the  month  of  May,  1786,  and  in 
June  Mr.  Smelt  asked  for  an  interview  with  Miss 
Burney  at  Mrs.  Delany’s  house  at  Windsor,  and  when 
alone  with  her,  stated  that  he  had  been  commissioned 
by  the  Queen  to  offer  her  the  post  of  Keeper  of  the 
Robes  from  which  Mrs.  Haggerdorn,  who  had  come 
with  Her  Majesty  from  Mecklenburg,  was  retiring. 

Thus  it  was  that  a  connection  was  formed,  the 
consequences  of  which  have  been  far-reaching.  We 
who  have  been  placed  in  touch  with  the  intimate 
fife  of  King  George  III.  and  Queen  Charlotte  through 
Fanny  Burney’s  having  been  forced  into  an  uncon¬ 
genial  office,  have  reason  to  concern  ourselves  only 
with  the  results  of  this  transaction.  We  have  no 
reason  to  concern  ourselves  greatly  with  the  incon¬ 
gruities  which  some  people  have  lamented  in  the 
spectacle  of  a  woman  of  great  talent  setting  about 
the  discharge  of  such  duties  as  could  be  much  more 
efficiently  discharged  by  an  ordinary  young  woman  ; 
what  concerns  us  is  the  fact  that  this  transaction 
was  the  means  of  placing  before  us  such  a  series  of 
pictures  of  a  certain  genre  as  enable  us  to  appreciate 
many  of  the  most  interesting  phases  of  the  domestic 
life  of  a  King  and  Queen  who,  without  such  a  chron¬ 
icler  as  Fanny  Burney  became,  would  never  have 
been  properly  estimated  by  the  English  people. 


IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THE  QUEEN 


CHAPTER  X 


IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THE  QUEEN 

FANNY  BURNEY  was  thirty-four  years  of  age 
when  Mr.  Smelt  came  to  her  with  the  gracious 
offer  of  the  Queen’s  favour.  She  had  had  a  very 
pleasant  life,  and  for  eight  years  she  had  been, 
as  an  author,  regarded  with  something  more  than 
respect  by  the  most  critical  people,  men  as  well  as 
women,  in  England.  She  had  become  the  dearest 
friend  of  a  discriminating  patroness  of  literature  and 
art,  and  the  greatest  man  of  letters  of  the  day  called 
her  his  darling  Burney.  Statesmen  and  artists  were 
among  her  warmest  admirers,  and  the  feminine  leaders 
of  fashion  were  forced  to  read  her  books  in  order 
to  keep  themselves  cm  courant  with  society.  For  any 
woman  who  had  attained  a  position  so  extraordinary 
— so  unparalleled  in  the  history  of  literature — to  be 
ready  to  accept  an  appointment  in  an  extremely 
commonplace  household  that  shut  her  off  from  her 
family  and  her  friends  as  completely  as  if  she  had 
entered  a  convent,  would  seem  little  less  than  a  freak 
of  madness. 

That  is  the  side  of  the  transaction  which  has  been 
examined  by  most  writers  who  have  dealt  with  it,  and 

135 


136 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


the  conclusion  to  which  they  have  come  is  unas¬ 
sailable. 

But  there  is,  we  venture  to  think,  another  stand¬ 
point  from  which  the  incident  is  susceptible  of  being 
viewed,  and  we  believe  that  a  little  consideration  of 
the  matter  from  this  other  side  will  lead  one  to  the 
belief  that  Dr.  Burney  was  quite  justified  in  adding 
the  weight  of  his  persuasions  to  those  of  many  other 
people  to  induce  his  daughter  to  take  the  grave  step 
which,  with  many  misgivings,  she  took  at  this  time. 

Now,  even  assuming  that  the  far-seeing  Dr.  Burney 
had  not  in  his  mind  the  likelihood  of  this  daughter 
of  his  being  placed  in  a  position  that  would  give  her  a 
chance  of  writing  a  work  which  would  be  of  enormous 
interest  to  the  people  of  England,  he  had,  we  think, 
a  very  good  right  to  urge  her  in  a  direction  that 
would,  he  knew,  lead  to  a  competency.  It  was  all 
very  well,  he  must  have  felt,  for  this  distinguished 
daughter  of  his  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  the  position 
which  she  had  won  for  herself ;  but  these  fruits,  though 
pleasant  enough  for  the  time  being,  could  not  be 
regarded  as  wholly  satisfactory  or  sustaining.  He 
had  a  right  to  think  of  his  daughter’s  future — he 
would  not  have  done  his  duty  had  he  failed  to  turn 
his  thoughts  in  that  direction.  He  was  sixty  years 
of  age,  and  he  had  found  it  impossible  to  save  any 
money  worth  speaking  of.  His  tuitions  were  not  so 
numerous  as  they  had  once  been,  nor  was  he  so 
capable  of  undertaking  so  many  as  he  had  once  suc¬ 
cessfully  coped  with.  He  might  reasonably  have 
looked  for  his  distinguished  daughter’s  making  a 


IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THE  QUEEN  137 


good  match,  considering  the  eagerness  with  which 
her  company  was  sought  in  many  directions.  Her 
sisters  had  married  and  left  their  home  long  before 
they  had  reached  her  age ;  but  there  she  was, 
thirty- four  years  of  age — a  woman  over  thirty  was 
looked  upon  as  an  old  maid  in  those  days  of  early 
marriages — and  without  having  known  what  it  was 
to  have  an  eligible  suitor.  The  prospect  was  serious. 

Of  course,  it  would  not  have  seemed  so  serious 
if  she  had  shown  any  signs  of  following  up  her  success 
in  literature  ;  but  he  must  have  become  as  fully 
convinced  as  she  herself  that  she  had  exhausted 
her  capacity  to  produce  anything  else  in  the  same 
line  of  imaginative  work,  even  though  her  living 
might  be  dependent  on  it.  Four  years  had  elapsed 
between  her  first  book  and  her  second,  and  now  an 
equal  space  had  gone  by,  and  yet  she  seemed  to  be 
unable  to  put  pen  to  paper. 

What  prospect  except  penury  was  there  for  a 
woman  like  this,  should  her  father  die  suddenly  ? 
Or  even  if  he  should  live  to  be  seventy,  how  much 
better  off  would  she  be  ? 

There  can  be  but  little  doubt  that  Dr.  Burney 
looked  at  the  whole  situation  in  the  most  practical 
way,  or  that  he  took  counsel  with  some  equally 
practical  friends  as  to  whether  the  Queen’s  offer 
should  be  accepted  or  not  ;  and  the  conclusion  that 
was  come  to  was  an  eminently  sane  one.  The 
securing  of  a  competency  for  his  daughter  by  the 
means  that  had  been  suggested  involved  the  greatest 
self-sacrifice  he  could  think  of,  yet  he  was  prepared 


138 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


to  urge  her  to  take  a  step  which  he  believed  would 
be  greatly  to  her  ultimate  advantage — it  actually 
turned  out  so — though  it  involved  some  immediate 
sacrifice  on  her  part  as  well  as  on  his.  It  is  all 
very  well  for  rhetoricians  like  Macaulay  to  rave 
against  Burney  for  persuading  his  daughter  to  remove 
herself  from  being  the  centre  of  a  brilliant  circle  in 
society  and  become  the  merest  cipher  in  the  house¬ 
hold  of  a  commonplace  King  and  still  more  common¬ 
place  Queen  :  there  would  be  some  reason  in  such 
raving  if  it  could  be  shown  that  Fanny  Burney  was 
ready  to  continue  contributing  to  the  brilliancy  of  the 
circle  of  which  she  was  the  centre  ;  but  she  had  ceased 
to  do  so,  and  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that  she 
would  never  do  so  again,  and  this  made  all  the  differ¬ 
ence  in  the  world  to  the  aspects  of  the  situation.  If 
she  had  had  a  fortune  of  her  own  it  might  be  claimed 
for  her  that  she  had  a  right  to  choose  what  life  she 
would  live ;  but,  as  it  was,  she  was  dependent  upon 
her  hard-working  father,  who  was  no  longer  young, 
for  her  daily  bread  and  for  the  wherewithal  to  support 
the  position  which  she  occupied  in  the  world  ;  and 
unless  it  would  have  been  possible  to  guarantee  to  her 
the  continuation  to  an  indefinite  period  of  the  life 
of  her  father  and  his  contributions  to  her  well-being, 
it  is  perfectly  plain  that  in  accepting  the  appointment 
offered  by  the  Queen,  Fanny  Burney  adopted  the  only 
course  that  was  open  to  her  in  the  circumstances. 

And  this  is,  we  are  convinced,  the  conclusion  which 
will  be  come  to  by  any  one  considering  the  whole 
question  in  the  light  of  reason  apart  from  the  light 


IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THE  QUEEN  139 


of  rhetoric — neglecting  altogether  for  the  moment 
all  question  of  the  splendid  outcome  of  her  five 
years’  residence  in  the  service  of  the  Queen,  in  the 
form  of  the  Diary.  If  we  were  to  take  this  into 
account  at  the  beginning,  it  would  not  be  necessary 
to  discuss  the  rights  and  the  wrongs  of  the  trans¬ 
action  as  we  have  done,  with  a  view  to  counteract 
the  impression  which  the  unreasonableness  of  some 
writers  in  blaming  Burney  has  had  upon  many 
readers  interested  in  the  eighteenth  century. 

Miss  Burney  had  had  no  notion  that  for  some 
time  the  Queen  had  been  making  every  possible 
inquiry  respecting  her  ;  but  such  an  inquisition  had 
been  going  on  ever  since  Mrs.  Delany  had  suggested 
— as  she  certainly  had — the  advantages  that  would 
accrue  to  the  Royal  Family  could  the  accomplished 
Miss  Burney  become  attached  to  a  Royal  household. 
It  was  in  connection  with  one  of  the  young  Princesses 
that  the  matter  of  employing  Miss  Burney  was 
originally  discussed  ;  and  it  would  appear  that  Mr. 
Smelt,  at  one  of  his  interviews  with  Fanny,  only 
talked  vaguely  as  to  the  exact  nature  of  the  offer 
he  was  commissioned  to  make  to  her,  but  the  post 
of  Keeper  of  the  Robes  becoming  vacant  rather 
suddenly  at  last,  by  the  time  she  had  considered  the 
vague  question  of  Royal  employment,  the  exact 
nature  of  the  duty  she  would  be  asked  to  dis¬ 
charge  was  stated  to  her. 

At  first  Mr.  Smelt’s  mission  seemed  likely  to 
result  in  failure.  He  had  every  reason  to  feel 
surprised  that  little  Miss  Burney,  the  daughter 


140 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


of  a  music-teacher,  should  not  forthwith  jump  at 
the  offer  he  brought  to  her.  And  good  Mrs. 
Delany  could  not  but  have  felt  hurt  as  well  as 
surprised  at  the  hesitation  shown  by  the  one  whom 
the  Queen  delighted  to  honour.  We  may  be  sure 
that  she  spoke  very  kindly  to  her  about  the  sin  of 
flying  in  the  face  of  Providence.  But  Fanny  had 
been  startled,  and  was  almost  as  horrified  by  the 
proposal  as  the  young  virgin  of  her  period  is 
represented  as  being  when  an  offer  of  marriage  is 
thoughtlessly  made  to  her. 

The  letter  which  she  wrote  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment  to  her  friend  Miss  Cambridge  may  be 
accepted  as  an  exact  reflection  of  her  mind  after 
thinking  over  all  that  Mr.  Smelt  had  said  to  her. 
It  was  plain  that  he  had  not  taken  any  particular 
pains  to  minimise  the  exclusiveness  of  the  position 
of  such  a  Court  official  as  Keeper  of  the  Robes.  He 
told  her  all  that  she  repeated  to  Miss  Cambridge 
— that  her  attendance  was  to  be  incessant — the 
confinement  to  the  Court  continual — that  she  need 
not  expect  to  be  allowed  to  pay  even  a  single  visit 
beyond  the  purlieus  of  a  palace,  or  to  receive  a  visit 
from  any  one  without  leave.  In  short,  she  was  made 
to  understand  that  retirement  to  a  convent  of  the 
strictest  order  would  impose  upon  her  no  greater 
restrictions  than  her  acceptance  of  the  post  which 
he  came  to  offer  her.  It  is  no  wonder  that  she 
should  exclaim,  “  What  a  life  for  me,  who  have  friends 
so  dear  to  me,  and  to  whom  friendship  is  the  balm, 
the  comfort,  the  very  support  of  existence !  ” 


IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THE  QUEEN  141 


But  against  the  apparent  hardship  of  these 
restrictions  he  enumerated  the  many  advantages 
that  she  would  have  over  the  rest  of  humanity— with 
a  few  unimportant  exceptions.  She  was  actually  to 
have  an  apartment  of  her  own  in  one  of  the  buildings 
that  did  duty  for  a  palace,  and  she  would  be  permitted 
to  take  her  meals  at  the  table  with  the  senior  holder 
of  the  office  of  Keeper  of  the  Robes,  and  this  was  the 
table  at  which  the  Queen’s  own  visitors  dined  ;  in 
addition,  she  was  to  be  allowed  a  manservant  all  to 
herself — though  without  a  bell  in  her  room  to 
summon  him — and,  most  important  of  all,  he  assured 
her,  “  in  such  a  situation,  you  may  have  opportunities 
of  serving  your  particular  friends — especially  your 
father — such  as  scarce  any  other  could  afford  you.” 
4‘  My  dear  Miss  Cambridge  will  easily  feel  that  this 
was  a  plea  not  to  be  answered,”  Fanny  wrote  to 
her  friend ;  and  we  are  sure  that  when  it  was  com¬ 
municated  to  her  father,  he  thoroughly  agreed  with  her. 

But  even  after  reviewing  the  most  favourable 
conditions,  and  adding  to  them  the  honour  and  the 
privilege  of  being  permitted  to  approach  so  close  to 
the  person  of  the  Royal  lady — which  undoubtedly 
Fanny  appreciated  to  the  full — she  shrank  from 
accepting  the  post ;  but  left  it  to  her  father  to  decide 
whether  she  should  pass  through  the  door  which  was 
to  shut  her  off  from  her  old  associates  and  her  old 
associations  as  exclusively  as  if  she  were  a  prisoner 
in  the  Tower.  But  she  knew  perfectly  well  what  his 
decision  would  be  :  “I  cannot  even  to  my  father  utter 
my  reluctance — I  see  him  so  much  delighted  at  the 


142 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


prospect  of  an  establishment  he  looks  upon  as  so 
honourable,”  she  wrote  to  her  friend,  adding  the 
despairing  cry  :  “I  now  see  the  end — it  is  next  to 
inevitable.  I  can  suggest  nothing  upon  earth  that  I 
dare  say  for  myself.  .  .  .  But  what  can  make  me 
amends  for  all  I  shall  forfeit?  .  .  .  My  greatest 
terror  is  lest  the  Queen  should  make  me  promise 
myself  to  her  for  a  length  of  years.  .  .  .  Could  I  but 
save  myself  from  a  lasting  bond — from  a  promised 
devotion !  ” 

She  was  not  mistaken  in  anything  that  she  foresaw. 
She  had  no  chance  against  the  powers  that  were 
leagued  against  her.  She  gave  in  with  as  good  a 
grace  as  she  could,  and  on  June  20,  1786,  she  went  to 
the  Queen’s  Lodge  at  Windsor  to  see  her  apartment 
and  to  receive  her  detailed  instructions  respecting  the 
life  upon  which  she  was  to  enter. 

And  the  strange  part  of  the  business  was  that  so 
many  people  who  knew  her  well  and  who  were 
acquainted  with  her  mode  of  life  and  the  position  she 
occupied  in  the  most  interesting  society  of  the  period, 
were  ready  to  congratulate  her  and  her  father  upon 
her  appointment.  We  have  already  referred  to 
Edmund  Burke’s  approval  of  it.  He  left  a  card  of 
congratulation  upon  Dr.  Burney  “  upon  the  honour 
done  by  the  Queen  to  Miss  Burney  ” — and  Miss 
Burney  found  the  card  years  afterward  when  she  was 
compiling  her  father’s  Memoirs ;  and  Hannah  More 
wrote  to  their  common  friend  Pepys  :  “I  was  in  the 
very  joy  of  my  heart  on  seeing  the  other  day  in  the 
papers  that  our  charming  Miss  Burney  has  got  an 


IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THE  QUEEN  143 


establishment  so  near  the  Queen.  How  I  love  the 
Queen  for  having  so  wisely  chosen !  ”  Others 
ventured  to  express  the  opinion  that  the  choice  made 
by  the  Queen  reflected  honour,  not  only  upon  Miss 
Burney,  but  upon  the  Queen  herself ;  and  we  have 
already  alluded  to  Horace  Walpole’s  expression  of 
regret  that  he  should  not  live  long  enough  to  see  the 
fruits  of  her  residence  at  the  Court.  He  was  shrewd 
enough  to  perceive  what  a  chance  this  close  observer 
of  life  and  its  comedy  would  have. 

And  then  came  the  trying  hour  when  she  was  to 
say  farewell  to  her  father.  Nothing  could  be  more 
pathetic  than  her  account  of  how  she  betrayed  her 
inmost  feelings  when  she  was  holding  him  by  the  arm 
as  he  walked  with  her  from  Mrs.  Delany’s  cottage  to 
the  Royal  Lodge.  When  they  were  in  the  room  that 
had  been  occupied  by  the  previous  holder  of  the  post 
which  was  now  hers,  and  only  awaited  the  summons 
of  the  Sovereign  to  part  them,  they  were  both  over¬ 
come  with  emotion,  and  the  father’s  manly  attempt  to 
compose  his  daughter’s  feelings  made  her  try  to  con¬ 
vince  him  that  it  was  only  the  thought  of  the  coming 
audience  with  Her  Majesty  that  so  moved  her.  And 
then  came  the  dread  summons. 

Fanny  Burney’s  account  of  the  whole  scene  reaches 
the  highest  level  of  pathos,  without  containing  a 
single  word  that  is  associated  by  convention  with 
pathos.  It  is  absolutely  natural  in  every  way,  but  it 
compels  a  reader  to  feel  with  her  at  every  moment. 

The  Queen  received  her  in  the  Royal  dressing-room 
and  in  the  presence  of  the  Senior  Keeper  of  the 


144 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


Robes,  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  and  tried  to  place  her 
at  her  ease  by  talking  of  her  father  and  her  journey 
and  its  incidents.  After  a  quarter  of  an  hour  she 
dismissed  her,  asking  her  colleague  to  show  her  to 
her  apartment.  “  She  saw  me  much  agitated,”  writes 
this  marvellous  observer,  “and  attributed  it,  no  doubt, 
to  the  awe  of  her  presence.  Oh,  she  little  knew 
my  mind  had  no  room  in  it  for  feelings  of  that 
sort !  ” 

In  another  moment  she  is  back  in  the  arms  of 
her  father,  assuring  him  of  the  kindness  of  the 
Queen  and  gratifying  him  by  her  account  of  her 
interview  with  the  gracious  lady.  “His  hopes  and 
gay  expectations  were  all  within  call,  and  they  were 
back  at  the  first  beckoning,”  she  wrote  to  her 
sister. 

And  thus  they  separated  with  smiles — of  a  kind  : 
they  were  both  hoping  for  the  best.  This  is  the  form 
that  was  taken  by  her  hopes  : — 

“  Now  all  was  finally  settled,  to  borrow  my  own 
words,  I  needed  no  monitor  to  tell  me  it  would  be 
foolish,  useless,  even  wicked,  not  to  reconcile  myself 
to  my  destiny.  ...  I  am  married,  my  dearest  Susan 
— I  look  upon  it  in  that  light — I  was  averse  to 
forming  the  union,  and  I  endeavoured  to  escape  it ; 
but  my  friends  interfered — they  prevailed  and  the 
knot  is  tied.  What  then  now  remains  but  to  make 
the  best  wife  in  my  power?  I  am  bound  to  it  in 
duty  and  I  will  strain  every  nerve  to  succeed.” 

She  kept  to  this  resolution  ;  but  it  was  just  the 
constant  strain  upon  every  nerve  that  broke  her  down. 


IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  THE  QUEEN  145 


It  is  not  such  a  temperament  as  was  Fanny  Burney’s 
that  comes  well  out  of  such  an  ordeal  as  is  entailed 
by  a  constant  discharge  of  commonplace  duties,  un¬ 
varying  from  one  day  to  another.  The  phlegmatic, 
easy-going,  docile,  mechanical  intelligence  is  that 
which  achieves  a  success  in  such  a  situation  as  she 
was  called  on  to  fill.  A  woman  whose  nerves  are 
perpetually  on  the  strain  without  there  being  the 
slightest  need  for  any  strain  is  the  worst  in  the 
world  for  such  a  place.  And  thus  it  was  that 
Fanny  Burney  made  but  a  very  indifferent  tire¬ 
woman,  but  an  incomparable  recorder  of  everything 
that  was  going  on  and  that  she  thought  prudent  to 
record.  Only  it  may  be  it  was  a  pity  that  she  was 
so  prudent  in  her  judgment. 


11 


■ 

■ 


THE  DAILY  ROUND 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE  DAILY  ROUND 

A  GREAT  change  had  taken  place  in  respect 
of  the  personnel  of  the  Royal  household  when 
the  virtuous  George  followed  his  grandfather,  who 
could  scarcely  be  so  described  by  even  the  most  in¬ 
dulgent  chronicler.  George  II.  had  for  many  years 
before  his  death  been  a  widower — an  honorary 
widower.  So  deeply  attached  had  he  been  to  his 
spouse  Caroline  that  when  on  her  death-bed  she 
urged  him  to  marry  again,  he  vowed  never  to  do 
so.  “Jamais!”  he  cried.  “Jamais:  j’aurai  des 
maitresses,”  and,  faithful  to  her  memory — which  was 
a  good  deal  more  than  he  had  been  to  herself — he 
had  kept  his  word  to  the  letter.  There  had  thus 
been  no  Queen’s  Household  for  a  long  time,  so  that 
there  was  no  difficulty  in  changing  the  basis  upon 
which  Queen  Caroline’s  had  been  formed,  when  it 
was  necessary  to  start  one  for  Queen  Charlotte. 

Queen  Caroline  had  had,  in  addition  to  the 
Mistress  of  the  Robes,  who  was  a  Duchess,  six 
Ladies  of  the  Bedchamber,  who  were  Countesses ; 
six  Women  of  the  Bedchamber,  and  six  Maids  of 
Honour.  Some  of  these  offices  were  honorary,  and  so 
was  the  honour.  The  notorious  Mrs.  Howard,  who 

149 


150 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


was  afterward  created  Lady  Suffolk,  was  one  of 
the  Bedchamber  women,  her  nomination  coming  from 
the  King,  whose  frugal  forethought  saved  a  double 
payment  to  this  lady,  though  her  duties  were  not 
confined  to  attendance  upon  one  only  of  the  Royal 
pair.  He  had  even  gone  so  far  as  to  suggest  to 
his  consort  that  it  would  be  nice  of  her  to  pay  the 
lady’s  husband  for  the  deprivation  of  her  society  ; 
but  the  Queen  declined  to  take  the  hint. 

The  Hanoverian  tradition  in  regard  to  these 
members  of  the  staff  was  not  maintained  by  the 
successor  to  this  Royal  humorist,  nor  was  the 
Hanoverian  etiquette — copied  from  Versailles — of  the 
Royal  dressing-room.  We  do  not  need  to  refer  to 
the  exquisite  French  colour-prints  which  deal  with 
the  subject  of  the  toilette  of  the  great  lady  of  the 
early  Georgian  years  ;  we  have  an  abundant  supply 
of  information  on  the  subject  in  the  satires  of  the 
period  and  in  the  scenes  of  some  of  the  comedies. 
The  lady’s  dressing-room  was  usually  the  most 
interesting  apartment  in  a  house  that  had  any 
pretension  to  fashion.  It  was  something  between  a 
painter’s  atelier  and  a  chemist’s  laboratory  ;  and  during 
the  two  or  three  hours  that  the  various  processes 
of  the  toilette  occupied,  the  great  lady  received  her 
friends,  of  both  sexes,  practically  from  the  moment 
she  stepped  out  of  her  canopied  bed.  In  France 
it  was  not  unusual  for  the  lady  to  receive  her  friends, 
of  both  sexes,  when  actually  in  her  bath,  but  we 
should  hasten  to  mention  that  no  sense  of  propriety 
could  be  offended  when  it  was  known  that  a  spoonful 
of  milk  was  added  to  the  water. 


THE  DAILY  ROUND 


151 


Good  Queen  Caroline  found  the  hours  of  dressing 
all  too  short  for  what  she  had  to  get  through  in  the 
way  of  business  ;  and  so  she  arranged  to  economise 
her  time  by  having  her  chaplains  read  prayers  in 
an  ante-room.  This  was  surely  an  excellent  plan, 
for  it  was  always  possible  to  close  the  door  between 
the  rooms  when  the  Queen  wished  to  make  a  remark 
to  her  friends.  “  Why  don’t  you  go  on  with  your 
prayers  ?  ”  she  cried  upon  one  occasion  when  it  seemed 
to  her  that  the  voice  of  the  chaplain  had  died  away 
to  nothing.  “  Madam,”  he  replied,  “  I  decline  to 
whistle  the  sacred  words  through  a  keyhole.”  Upon 
another  occasion  the  chaplain  was  put  into  a  second 
ante-room,  where  he  found  himself  in  the  act  of 
kneeling  before  a  picture  of  Venus.  “  A  proper 
altar-piece  !  ”  he  exclaimed. 

But  if  the  etiquette  of  the  Royal  dressing-room 
did  not  extend  to  spiritual  matters,  it  was  inflexible 
in  mundane.  The  Queen  was  in  no  way  behind 
her  consort  in  these  ridiculous  formalities  ;  and  when 
Mrs.  Howard,  that  one  of  the  Bedchamber  women 
to  whom  we  have  just  referred,  refused  to  kneel 
before  her  when  presenting  the  silver  ewer,  her 
colleague  holding  the  basin,  the  Royal  lady  was 
greatly  annoyed  and  insisted  on  the  kneeling  service. 
But  Mrs.  Howard  was  not  disposed  to  give  in  on 
this  point,  and  wrote  to  her  friend  Arbuthnot  to 
inquire  from  Lady  Masham,  who  had  been  Bed¬ 
chamber  woman  to  Queen  Anne,  if  this  item  of 
etiquette  had  any  precedent.  She  got  a  complete 
reply  which  should  settle  the  question  for  ever ; 


152 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


and  the  kneeling  of  the  Bedchamber  woman  was 
established,  as  well  as  the  upright  posture  of  the 
Bedchamber  lady.  When  the  Queen  wanted  a  fan, 
the  Bedchamber  woman  handed  it  to  the  Bedchamber 
lady,  who  gave  it  into  the  Royal  clutch.  That  was 
a  point  worth  having  settled  once  and  for  all.  What 
would  have  happened  if  the  Bedchamber  woman 
had  passed  it  directly  into  the  hands  of  the  Queen 
can  only  be  surmised.  One  recalls  instinctively  the 
fate  of  Korah,  Dathan,  and  Abiram,  whom  the  earth 
swallowed  up  for  another  breach  of  etiquette — the 
etiquette  of  plunder ! 

But  in  the  matter  of  drinking  there  was  still 
another  set  of  rules.  When  the  Queen  dined  in 
public,  which  she  did  every  Sunday,  it  was  a  page 
who  brought  the  glass  from  another  functionary, 
and  handed  it  to  the  Bedchamber  woman,  who  passed 
it  on  to  the  Bedchamber  lady,  who  handed  it  to  the 
Queen  without  kneeling.  The  Queen,  however,  was 
permitted  to  drink  the  contents  of  the  glass  without 
further  assistance.  With  the  morning  chocolate  the 
procedure  was  simpler.  The  Bedchamber  woman 
brought  the  chocolate  and  handed  it  to  the  Queen 
without  kneeling ;  but  as  it  was  the  page  of  the 
backstairs  who  put  on  the  Royal  shoes,  it  is  possible 
that  this  operation  necessitated  a  genuflection. 

Very  different  from  all  this  laborious  ceremony 
was  the  system  that  had  been  inaugurated  and  was 
maintained  by  Queen  Charlotte  when  Fanny  Burney 
entered  her  service.  All  that  can  be  said  of  her 
duty  is  that  it  would  have  been  quite  trifling  if  it 


THE  DAILY  ROUND 


153 


had  not  entailed  her  constant  presence  within  sound 
of  the  Queen’s  bell.  Never  was  that  bell  to  sound 
without  her  being  at  hand  to  hear  every  tinkle. 
At  first  the  thought  that  she  was  to  answer  the  bell 
like  any  maidservant  almost  overwhelmed  her,  but 
when  she  found  that  Mrs.  Fielding,  the  Bedchamber 
woman,  was  in  the  same  position,  though  the  grand¬ 
daughter  of  an  earl,  she  recovered,  and  a  little 
reflection  soon  convinced  her  that  there  was  nothing 
demeaning  to  any  one  in  answering  a  bell.  It  seemed 
too  that  her  predecessor,  Mrs.  Haggerdorn,  took 
pleasure  in  hearing  the  sound,  without  having  any 
desire  to  be  empowered  herself  to  summon  her  servant 
through  such  a  medium.  There  was,  strange  to  say, 
no  bell-pull  in  her  room  ;  so  that  when  she  had  need 
of  her  servant  she  had  to  find  him  as  best  she  could. 
Miss  Burney  did  not  complain,  and  at  last  the  omission 
was  made  good  by  an  observant  official. 

But  the  whole  scheme  of  apartments  at  these  Royal 
Lodges  at  Windsor  was  quite  unworthy  of  the  place 
or  its  occupants.  The  Royal  Lodges,  as  they  were 
called,  appear  to  have  been  jerry-built  structures — -there 
was  nearly  as  much  jerry-building  in  those  days  as 
there  is  just  now — although  designed  by  Sir  Thomas 
Chambers,  and  with  certainly  few  conveniences  for 
a  family.  The  number  and  variety  of  draughts 
between  the  rooms  and  corridors  formed  a  constant 
topic  among  the  equerries  and  ladies-in-waiting. 

But  Fanny  Burney — who  now  had  the  title  of  “ Mrs.” 
conferred  upon  her  in  official  documents — was  greatly 
pleased  with  her  apartment.  She  had  a  drawing-room 


154 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


on  the  ground-floor  of  the  Queen’s  Lodge,  looking  out 
upon  the  Round  Tower,  at  one  side,  and  opening  on 
the  other  side  upon  the  Little  Park.  Her  bedroom 
looked  into  the  garden.  At  the  door  of  the  drawing¬ 
room  was  the  staircase  that  led  to  the  apartment 
of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  the  Senior  Keeper  of  the 
Robes. 

Fanny  Burney’s  duties  kept  her  pretty  frequently 
on  those  stairs  and  on  the  corridors  leading  to  the 
Queen’s  rooms.  Her  work  compelled  her  to  rise  at 
six,  and  she  was  supposed  to  be  dressed  to  await 
the  Queen’s  summons  for  attendance,  which  usually 
came  at  half  past  seven.  Her  Majesty  was  an  early 
riser ;  she  invariably  had  her  hair  dressed  by  a  coiffeur 
before  she  called  for  any  of  her  staff  of  ladies,  and 
as  the  process  was  by  no  means  a  brief  one — there 
was  more  architectural  skill  shown  in  the  Gothic  tower 
upon  her  head  than  in  the  facade  of  the  Lodges — 
she  must  have  been  out  of  bed  as  soon  as  her  “  Mrs.” 
Burney.  A  German  named  Mrs.  Thielky  did  most 
of  the  practical  work  of  the  toilette,  selecting  the 
articles  for  the  morning  wear  and  handing  them 
to  the  Keeper  of  the  Robes,  who  put  them  on  the 
Royal  person.  “  ’Tis  fortunate  for  me  I  have  not 
the  handing  of  them !  ”  wrote  Fanny.  “  I  should 
never  know  which  to  take  first,  embarrassed  as  I  am, 
and  should  run  a  prodigious  risk  of  giving  the  gown 
before  the  hoop,  and  the  fan  before  the  necker¬ 
chief.”  If  this  was  so,  it  seems  rather  extraordinary 
that  she  did  not  take  some  lessons,  so  as  to  under¬ 
stand  the  rudiments  of  her  work. 


THE  DAILY  ROUND 


155 


But  this  first  toilette  was  quite  a  simple  affair, 
just  good  enough  for  going  to  prayers  in.  The 
service  was  held  in  the  King’s  chapel  in  the  Castle, 
and  it  was  de  rigueur  for  all  the  Princesses  with  their 
governesses  to  attend.  The  King  also  attended, 
with  an  equerry,  so  that  it  will  be  understood  how  great 
a  change  had  taken  place  in  the  Royal  manage  since 
the  days  when  Queen  Caroline  was  content  to 
perform  her  devotions  by  deputy,  only  identifying 
herself  with  the  sentiments  of  the  chaplains  to  the 
•extent  of  the  breadth  of  the  crack  in  the  door. 

After  chapel  Fanny  went  to  her  own  room,  where 
she  had  breakfast,  the  usual  artisan’s  hour  being 
allowed  to  her  for  this  meal  ;  for  she  found  it 
necessary  to  look  after  her  own  sumptuary  prepara¬ 
tions  for  the  week :  there  were  Court-days  that  required 
a  special  dress,  and  there  were  dozens  of  Royal 
birthdays,  every  one  of  which  necessitated  an  ap¬ 
pearance  in  a  new  dress,  for  the  Royal  birthdays 
had  the  importance  of  the  numerous  Saints’  days  in 
Catholic  countries  ;  and,  moreover,  the  dresses  had 
to  be  “  moderately  fashionable.”  Knowing  how 
expensive  were  such  things  more  than  a  century 
ago,  one  is  led  to  wonder  how  the  £ 200  which  she 
received  as  salary  was  sufficient  to  pay  for  her 
wardrobe. 

At  a  quarter  before  twelve,  except  on  Wednesdays 
and  Saturdays,  she  had  to  dress  to  begin  her  serious 
work  upon  the  Queen,  for  Her  Majesty  had  to  be 
prepared  for  the  day.  On  Wednesdays  and  Satur¬ 
days  the  Royal  hair  had  to  be  curled  and  craped,  and 


156 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


on  every  other  day,  powdered.  We  do  not  hear 
of  Ladies  of  the  Bedchamber  or  Women  of  the  Bed¬ 
chamber  being  in  attendance  for  this  rite,  but  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg,  Mrs.  Burney,  and  Mrs.  Thielky  were 
required.  The  two  Robe-keepers  removed  the 
morning  gown  and  put  on  the  powdering  jacket, 
and  then  the  hairdresser  came  upon  the  scene. 
While  this  operation  was  being  performed  Her  Majesty 
gave  her  attention  to  literature,  and  never  failed, 
we  are  told,  to  read  some  paragraph  aloud,  comment¬ 
ing  on  it  and  inviting  the  comments  of  her  literary 
attendant.  In  this  way,  it  is  not  going  too  far  to 
say,  her  literary  attendant  became  informed  on  many 
departments  of  literature  upon  which  she  had  been 
woefully  ignorant  before.  But  when  the  business  of 
powdering  was  going  on  the  Queen  invariably  sent 
her  out  of  the  room,  so  that  her  clothes  might  not 
be  injured — a  considerate  measure  which  she  fully 
appreciated.  Indeed,  if  we  were  to  judge  from  the 
grateful  comments  made  by  Fanny  Burney  upon 
this  and  other  acts  of  her  mistress,  we  should  be 
inclined  to  believe  that  a  more  thoughtful  and  con¬ 
siderate  lady  never  lived.  It  seems  strange — quite 
unbelievable,  in  fact — that  Queen  Charlotte  should 
have  been  at  any  time  of  her  life  the  termagant 
some  historians  try  to  make  out  that  she  was. 
The  treatment  of  their  attendants  by  the  ladies 
of  quality  in  the  days  when  the  Lady  of  Quality 
flourished  exceedingly  may  be  gathered  from 
countless  allusions  to  it  to  be  found  in  the  novels 
and  satires  of  the  day.  If  we  are  to  believe  such 


THE  DAILY  ROUND 


157 


evidence  as  is  forthcoming  in  these  quarters,  the  lady’s- 
maid  became  the  safety-valve  by  which  the  ebul¬ 
litions  of  bad  temper  on  the  part  of  the  lady  of  quality 
were  got  rid  of  “  when  lovers  or  when  lap-dogs  ” 
had  been  annoying.  She  was  rapped  over  the 
knuckles  with  the  heels  of  those  little  slippers  which 
we  see  in  some  cabinets  to-day,  and  she  had  her  ears 
boxed  and  her  hair  pulled  on  the  smallest  pretext. 
In  fact,  if  the  lady’s-maid  of  to-day  were  to  be  treated 
as  her  predecessor  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago 
was  treated,  her  mistress  would  be  compelled  to 
spend  most  of  her  pocket-money  in  fines  for  assault, 
unless  she  were  sent  to  prison  without  the  option 
of  a  fine.  A  knowledge  of  these  facts  makes  the 
consideration  shown  by  Queen  Charlotte  to  her 
attendants  seem  all  the  more  gracious.  Not  merely 
was  Fanny  Burney  excused  when  the  powdering 
was  going  on,  but  she  was  also  allowed  to  go 
away  to  complete  her  own  toilette  should  the  Royal 
summons  have  come  rather  earlier  than  she  expected, 
and  also  when  the  Queen  felt  inclined  to  continue 
reading. 

The  last  process  of  the  toilette  was  conducted  in 
the  chief  dressing-room,  and  we  are  told  that  it  did 
not  take  long;  and  from  that  time  until  Her  Majesty 
was  to  be  put  to  bed  Fanny  saw  nothing  of  her 
unless  by  chance.  At  five  o’clock  dinner  was  served 
in  the  eating-room  for  the  two  Keepers  of  the  Robes 
— a  more  ill-matched  couple  never  sat  down  to  a 
table  ;  but  the  meal  was  frequently  enlivened — it 
could  not  well  be  rendered  more  dull — by  the  presence 


158 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


of  some  of  those  visitors  who  had  had  an  audience  of 
the  Queen  and  were  not  eligible  for  the  servants’  hall. 
Bishops  were  named  by  Mr.  Smelt  when  he  was 
giving  Fanny  an  example  of  the  class  of  person 
whom  she  would  have  the  privilege  of  entertaining 
in  this  room  on  behalf  of  Her  Majesty  ;  but  we  are 
not  quite  convinced  that  the  nomination  had  carried 
sufficient  weight  with  it  to  overcome  the  reluctance 
with  which  Fanny  Burney  accepted  the  Queen’s 
gracious  offer.  She  had  met  with  more  than  one 
bishop  in  the  course  of  her  life,  so  that  the  idea 
did  not  impress  her  with  the  same  awe  that  she 
had  felt  when  addressed  for  the  first  time  by 
the  homeliest  King  that  ever  lived.  But  people  of 
greater  social  rank  now  and  again  came  to  the  table 
— people  who  had  never  heard  the  name  of  the  Senior 
Robe-keeper,  but  who  had  for  long  been  familiar 
with  that  of  the  younger — and  said  so,  not 
possessing  the  tact  of  the  latter,  who  never  said 
anything  to  suggest  that  she  was  a  greater  personage 
in  the  world  than  Mrs.  Schwellenberg. 

After  dinner  came  some  hours  that  might  have 
been  pleasant  enough  ;  as  she  describes  them,  however, 
they  appear  to  have  been  just  the  opposite.  She 
followed  her  Senior  upstairs,  where  they  had  coffee 
together,  remaining  in  summer  until  what  she  calls  “  the 
terracing  ”  was  over — when  the  Royal  Family  had 
had  their  afternoon  stroll  on  the  Terrace  between  the 
lanes  of  their  loyal  subjects — and  then  came  an  hour 
for  tea  in  the  lower  room,  where  the  equerries  were 
usually  to  be  found  with  any  visitor  who  had  been 


THE  DAILY  ROUND 


159 


invited  by  the  King  or  Queen  to  the  Concert,  which 
took  place  at  nine.  At  the  conclusion  of  this  enter¬ 
tainment  supper  was  available,  and  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg  availed  herself  of  it ;  but  her  colleague  took  it 
for  granted  that  she  had  forfeited  her  claim  ever 
to  have  this  meal  since,  upon  the  evening  of  her 
arrival,  she  had  not  felt  inclined  for  anything  beyond 
a  little  fruit — which  we  remember  she  was  accustomed 
to  at  St.  Martin’s  Street,  even  when  there  was  so 
distinguished  a  guest  among  her  father’s  friends  as 
Bruce,  the  Abyssinian  explorer.  Between  eleven 
and  twelve  came  her  summons  to  the  Queen’s  room, 
and  by  the  aid  of  the  useful  Mrs.  Thielky  the  Royal 
lady  was  put  comfortably  and  dutifully  to  bed,  the 
ceremony  occupying  less  than  half  an  hour. 

Between  twelve  and  one,  then,  Miss  Burney  was 
quite  free  to  do  what  she  pleased  until  bedtime.  As 
she  had  been  up  since  six  in  the  morning  and  had 
to  be  up  at  the  same  hour  the  next  day,  one  can 
easily  believe  that  she  never  was  puzzled  to  know 
how  to  pass  the  time  until  she  laid  her  head  on  her 
pillow.  “To  sleep  I  fall  the  moment  I  have  put 
out  my  candle  and  laid  down  my  head,”  she  wrote. 

We  should  think  so.  Less  than  six  hours  in  bed 
after  a  day,  not  exactly  of  what  might  be  called  hard 
work  by  a  lodging-house  maid,  but  of  what  any  one 
must  call  wearying  work,  can  by  no  means  be  regarded 
as  excessive  for  an  ordinary  person,  or  suggestive  of 
a  sluggard  if  indulged  in  by  an  attendant  upon  a 
sovereign. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  actual  discharge  of  her 


160 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


duties  in  relation  to  the  Queen  did  not  take  up  more 
than  a  few  hours  of  the  day  ;  and  no  one  could  call 
them  arduous  duties,  considering  the  good  nature 
and  the  leniency  of  the  Royal  mistress — she  was 
always  ready  to  overlook  an  omission  which  other 
ladies  of  much  less  exalted  rank  would  regard  as 
grossly  flagrant — it  was  the  way  these  duties  broke 
up  the  day  that  caused  them  to  be  wearisome  to  Miss 
Burney — it  was  the  way  they  compelled  her  to  think 
of  herself  as  a  prisoner,  unable  to  do,  without  asking 
permission,  any  of  those  things  which  she  had  always 
done  freely  and  without  question — it  was  this  sense 
of  the  restraints  of  servitude  that  made  her  duties 
irksome  to  her,  as  they  could  not  but  be  to  any  one 
who  had  been  brought  up  with  only  the  smallest 
restriction  upon  her  coming  and  going.  That  she 
was  able  to  continue  doing  all  that  was  imposed  upon 
her,  uttering  only  an  occasional  murmur  in  her  Diary, 
shows  us  that  she  would  have  been  able  to  do  any¬ 
thing  that  she  set  her  hand  to  do.  It  shows  us  that 
she  had  perseverance  enough  to  enable  her  to  overcome 
all  the  trivial  technicalities  of  writing  for  the  stage,  so 
that,  had  she  been  judiciously  encouraged  in  this  direc¬ 
tion  after  her  first  essay  had  been — on  insufficient 
grounds,  we  believe — pronounced  a  failure,  she  would 
have  written  a  comedy  that  might  compare  with  the 
best  of  those  of  the  last  quarter  of  the  century.  The 
spirit  that  caused  her  to  face  boldly  and  to  overcome 
with  distinction  to  herself  the  many  difficulties  that 
confronted  her  when  entering  upon  a  life  that  was 
utterly  different  from  any  experience  that  had  been 


THE  DAILY  ROUND 


161 


hers,  would  surely  have  allowed  her  to  achieve  a 
triumph  in  a  branch  of  literature  which  was  quite 
congenial  with  her  temperament  and  on  which  her 
power  of  minute  observation  would  have  had  a  chance 
of  being  exercised  with  great  advantage. 

There,  however,  was  her  book  of  hours — the  list 
of  the  divisions  of  her  day — her  many  days  at 
Windsor  ;  and  we  have  an  opportunity  of  becoming 
acquainted  with  the  work  that  she  had  to  do  and 
with  the  extent  of  the  demands  it  made  upon  her, 
and  the  conclusion  which  we  must  come  to  is,  we 
think,  that  there  is  no  foundation  whatsoever  for  the 
assertion  made  by  the  purveyors  of  the  picturesque 
that  this  woman  of  genius  was  all  but  worked  to 
death  by  a  Queen  without  genius.  The  component 
parts  of  a  pathetic  situation  are  to  be  found  in  the 
juxtaposition  of  the  two  figures,  and  it  appealed  very 
forcibly  to  the  feelings  of  a  period  that  was  bathed 
in  tears  at  the  least  plausible  story  of  the  poor  and 
lowly  being  ground  beneath  the  iron  heel  of  wealthy 
Oppression.  The  situation  was,  it  is  quite  true,  a 
ridiculous  one,  but  the  element  of  oppression  never 
entered  into  it  for  a  moment.  The  Queen  was 
considerate,  and  she  had  need  to  be  so,  for  it  is  to  be 
feared  that  her  tire-woman  was  something  of  a  trial  ; 
and  that  is  where  a  suggestion  appears  of  the 
geometrical  tragedy  of  the  square  peg  and  the  round 
hole. 

But  was  the  Queen  never  aware  of  the  absence 
of  the  sense  of  adaptability  on  the  part  of  her 
attendant  ?  Every  one  knows  that  the  atten- 

12 


162 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


dant  upon  a  great  personage  should  possess,  in 
addition  to  the  full  complement  of  senses,  a  sense 
of  adaptability  to  even  the  most  unusual  of  circum¬ 
stances  ;  but  Fanny  Burney  never  succeeded  in 
acquiring  this,  though  she  did  her  best  to  please, 
and  probably  succeeded  in  pleasing  in  one  way,  if 
not  in  another,  the  gracious  lady  whom  she  served. 
But  did  the  gracious  lady  not  see  that,  simple  as 
the  duties  were,  her  “  Mrs.”  Burney  did  them  not 
nearly  so  well  as  a  commonplace  young  woman  would 
have  done  them  ? 

We  are  convinced  that  she  became  aware  of  the 
geometrical  incongruities  between  them,  to  which 
we  have  alluded,  very  early  in  their  acquaintance. 
We  are  convinced  that  the  Queen  meant  her  to 
occupy  a  very  different  place  from  that  to  which 
she  was  called.  The  questions  put  to  her  from  time 
to  time — allusions  to  her  literary  tastes  and  judgments, 
and  so  forth,  lead  us  to  believe  that  it  was  the  Queen’s 
intention  to  offer  her  a  situation  close  to  herself,  or  to 
some  of  the  young  Princesses,  that  should  give  her 
ability — the  Queen  assumed  the  ability — a  chance 
of  being  displayed  satisfactorily.  But  she  soon  found 
out  that  these  qualifications  for  service  in  what  she 
believed  would  be  a  more  congenial  sphere  for  her 
tire-woman  did  not  exist.  She  found  out  that  she 
had  nothing  to  learn  in  the  way  of  literature  from 
this  literary  lady  :  she  herself  had,  as  we  have  already 
mentioned,  read  far  more  widely  than  had  the  literary 
lady,  and  she  was  possessed  of  quite  as  high  a  critical 
faculty  in  regard  to  most  literary  matters  ;  while  in 


THE  DAILY  ROUND 


163 


the  matter  of  elocution,  supposing  a  situation  might 
one  day  be  open  for  any  one  possessing  some  powers 
that  might  be  so  described,  she  quickly  found  out 
that  nothing  could  be  done  for  Fanny. 

We  think  that  there  is  abundance  of  evidence  in 
the  Diaries  to  admit  of  our  making  this  assumption. 
But  what  was  left  for  the  Queen  to  do  in  the 
circumstances  ?  Well,  she  liked  her  “  Mrs.” 
Burney  very  well,  and  so  she  tolerated  her  as  a 
tire-woman  when  she  found  that  she  was  not 
qualified  for  the  discharge  of  those  other  duties 
for  which  the  Queen  had  hoped  she  would  be  emi¬ 
nently  fitted.  The  whole  situation  was  the  outcome 
of  the  Royal  regard  for  Mrs.  Delany  and  of  Mrs. 
Delany’s  regard  for  Fanny  Burney ;  and  the  result 
of  its  development  was  a  considerable  amount  of 
inconvenience  to  the  Queen,  a  large  amount  of  care 
(with  compensations)  to  Fanny  Burney,  and  an  in¬ 
comparable  record  of  intimate  Court  life  during  five 
interesting  years  that  continues  to  delight  thousands 
of  readers. 


THE  QUEENS  BELL 


CHAPTER  XII 


THE  QUEEN’S  BELL 


T  first  everything  went  on  as  smoothly  as 


could  be  wished.  Fanny  Burney  felt  quite 
reasonably  proud  of  being  in  such  close  touch  with 
the  Queen  ;  but  the  sense  of  constraint  seemed  never 
absent  from  her  for  long.  The  necessity  for  never 
moving  beyond  the  sound  of  the  Queen’s  bell  weighed 
greatly  upon  her  for  a  long  time — indeed,  she  never 
came  to  regard  the  restrictions  to  which  she  was 
subjected  as  would  an  ordinary  menial,  simply  as  a 
matter  of  course.  The  fact  was,  we  repeat,  that  she 
had  not  been  subjected  early  in  life  to  such  discipline 
as  would  have  made  her  life  seem  easy  to  her  now. 
Boys  going  from  the  rigid  discipline  of  a  public 
school  to  Sandhurst  do  not  find  the  precision  of  life 
in  barracks  intolerable  :  they  have  been  accustomed 
from  childhood  to  wait  for  their  orders,  and  to  sink 
the  freedom  of  their  own  individuality  in  the  uni¬ 
formity  of  the  machine  by  which  they  are  governed. 
But  Fanny  Burney  had  never  been  to  school,  and 
she  had  been  subjected  only  to  the  smallest  amount 
of  control,  owing  to  the  death  of  one  parent  and  the 
outdoor  occupation  of  the  other.  And  then  came 
her  success  with  Evelina ,  causing  her  to  receive 


167 


168 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


invitation  after  invitation  to  houses  where  she  was 
the  most  honoured  guest,  coming  and  going  as  she 
pleased.  This  could  hardly  be  regarded  as  ajgood 
training  for  a  career  that  bound  her  never  to  be 
beyond  the  sound  of  the  Queen’s  bell,  never  to  be 
absent  from  her  post  for  a  single  hour,  never  to  pay 
a  visit  without  leave  and  never  to  receive  a  visitor 
without  leave.  But  she  had  been  made  aware  of  the 
conditions  of  her  new  life,  and  only  rarely  did  she 
grumble. 

It  is  sadly  amusing  to  read  the  mock-heroic  letter 
she  wrote  before  she  had  any  idea  that  she  would 
ever  be  in  such  a  position  as  necessitated  her  taking 
very  seriously  all  that  she  wrote  in  fun,  and  then 
to  compare  it  with  what  she  wrote  afterward  very 
seriously  on  the  same  subject. 

“  Directions  for  coughing,  sneezing,  or  moving 
before  the  King  and  Queen,”  she  headed  her  little 
satire,  and  began  it  with  the  admonition  :  “In  the 
first  place  you  must  not  cough.  ...  In  the  second 
place  you  must  not  sneeze.  ...  In  the  third  place 
you  must  not  upon  any  account  stir  either  hand 
or  foot.  If  by  chance  a  black  pin  runs  into  your 
head,  you  must  not  take  it  out.  .  .  .  If,  however, 
the  agony  is  very  great,  you  may  privately  bite  the 
inside  of  your  cheek  or  of  your  lips  for  a  little  relief ; 
taking  care  meanwhile  to  do  it  so  cautiously  as  to 
make  no  apparent  dent  outwardly  ;  and  with  that 
precaution,  if  you  even  gnaw  a  bit  out  it  will  not 
be  minded,  only  be  sure  either  to  swallow  it,  or 
commit  it  to  a  corner  of  the  inside  of  your  mouth  till 
they  are  gone.” 


THE  QUEEN’S  BELL 


169 


How  mournfully  the  writer  of  this  (literally) 
“  mordant  ”  bit  of  satire  must  have  smiled  in  after¬ 
years  when  she  read  it,  thinking  of  the  many  days 
and  nights  that  she  had  spent  in  uneasiness  at  the 
thought  that  she  might  unwittingly  have  offended 
in  some  particular  the  worthy  old  couple  who,  by 
no  will  of  their  own,  were  insulated  by  etiquette. 

But  Fanny  Burney  really  did  far  better  than  any 
one  could  have  expected  that  she  would  do  in  her 
unaccustomed  position.  Nearly  every  one  about  the 
Court  was  amazed  at  her  appointment,  and  those 
who  had  been  intriguing  for  the  appointment  of  one 
of  their  relations  as  Robe-keeper  could  scarcely  be 
blamed  if  they  looked  askance  at  her,  and  then 
hastened  to  whisper  something  about  her  into  a 
sympathetic  ear.  But  there  she  was,  and  the  wise 
ones,  knowing  that  she  might  on  her  part  do  some 
whispering  in  the  Queen’s  ear,  perceived  that  she 
was  a  person  with  whom  it  might  be  as  well  to  be 
friendly.  The  governesses  and  under-governesses 
of  the  Princesses,  as  well  as  the  equerries,  were 
extremely  civil,  and  even  the  highest  officials  in  the 
Royal  entourage  were  gracious  to  her.  Possibly  some 
of  them  hoped  that  her  appointment  meant  the 
breaking  up  of  the  Mecklenburg  ring,  consisting  of 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  Mrs.  Haggerdorn,  and  Mrs. 
Thielky — a  happy  little  family  party  they  must 
have  been  in  the  dressing-room  every  morning 
and  evening  discussing  matters  from  the  standpoint 
of  Mecklenburg. 

Lady  Effingham,  the  First  Lady  of  the  Bed- 


170 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


chamber,  waited  upon  her  within  three  days  of  her 
appointment,  and  the  manner  of  this  act  of  courtesy 
was  certainly  devoid  of  ceremony.  Fanny  Burney 
had  been  to  call  upon  Madame  de  La  Fite,  a  French 
lady  who,  being  one  of  the  readers  to  the  Royal 
Family,  had  apartments  at  Windsor — Fanny  had  met 
her  at  Norbury  Park,  the  home  of  her  dear  friends 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Locke — and  had  prolonged  her  stay 
so  that  when  the  Queen  rang  for  her  noon  attendance 
she  was  not  ready.  She  had  only  time  to  slip  on 
her  morning  gown  and  a  large  cap  and  hurry  to 
the  Royal  dressing-room.  The  Queen  had  on  her 
peignoir  and  was  in  the  hands  of  her  hairdresser, 
so  she  excused  Fanny’s  immediate  attendance,  and 
told  her  she  might  complete  her  dressing.  Off 
rushed  Fanny,  and  almost  into  the  arms  of  a  lady 
who  had  been  to  call  upon  her,  but  whom  she  was 
obliged  to  fly  past,  only  to  be  met  by  a  gentleman 
wearing  a  star  and  a  red  riband,  who,  bowing  civilly, 
said,  “  Miss  Burney,  I  presume,”  but  was  checked 
by  her  excited  “Sir!”  and  retreated;  and  then, 
close  to  her  room,  she  was  spoken  to  by  Lady 
Effingham,  and  only  with  difficulty  evaded  her  in 
order  to  complete  her  own  toilette  and  then  Her 
Majesty’s.  Later,  however,  she  met  this  lady  in  the 
Royal  dressing-room,  and  the  Queen,  she  tells  us, 
“  very  graciously  kept  me  some  time,  addressing  me 
frequently  while  I  stayed,  in  the  conversation  that 
took  place,  as  if  with  a  sweet  view  to  point  out  to 
this  first  Lady  of  her  Bedchamber  I  have  yet  seen, 
the  favourable  light  in  which  she  considers  me.” 


THE  QUEENS  BELL 


171 


Some  of  the  other  ladies  of  the  Court  had  either 
met  Fanny  before  or  had  some  friends  in  common 
with  her,  so  that  she  had  no  reason  ever  to  feel 
herself  in  the  midst  of  strangers,  and  at  all  times 
the  Queen  treated  her  with  tact  and  such  consider¬ 
ation  as  she  ever  remembered  with  gratitude. 

Within  the  first  week  of  her  attendance  she  was  twice 
late  for  her  duties.  The  second  occasion  was  on  the 
Sunday  following  the  lapse  which  we  have  described, 
but  the  origin  was  such  as  would  cause  the  Queen’s 
forgiveness  to  be  easily  extended  to  her.  Charles 
Wesley,  the  musician  who  did  so  much  for  Church 
music  in  England,  had  conducted  the  service  on  the 
organ  and  afterward,  by  command  of  the  King, 
played  several  of  Handel’s  compositions.  Fanny, 
who  seems  to  have  had  a  good  everyday  liking  for 
music  of  a  high  order,  though  without  possessing 
any  special  faculty  of  criticism  of  this  or  any  other 
art,  was  so  carried  away  by  the  performance  that 
she  forgot  her  obligations,  and  allowed  the  Queen 
to  send  for  her  twice.  The  King  would  have 
pleaded  for  her  if  there  had  been  any  need  to  do  so, 
laying  the  blame  on  the  fascinations  of  Handel. 
How  could  any  one  separate  oneself  from  the  majestic 
strains  of  Handel  to  attend  upon  any  Majesty  ?  He 
was  a  thorough  Handelian,  and  knew  more  about  the 
great  master’s  powers  than  did  his  grandfather,  who 
attended  nearly  every  production  of  his  at  the  Opera 
House  in  the  Haymarket,  or  than  did  his  father,  the 
amiable  Frederick,  who  patronised  the  opposition 
opera  simply  to  annoy  King  George  II.,  their 


172 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


ridiculous  feud  bringing  about  the  bankruptcy  of 
the  great  Master-builder  of  cathedrals  of  harmony. 

The  Queen  was,  however,  very  lenient,  and  did  not 
reprove  the  want  of  punctuality  by  even  so  much  as  a 
cold  glance.  She  had  wisdom  enough  to  allow  of  her 
seeing  that  this  was  the  way  to  treat  her  new  servant ; 
and  Fanny  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  let 
nothing  come  between  her  and  her  duty.  She  shut 
herself  off  from  all  callers  for  some  time  before  the 
hours  of  her  attendance,  stationing  her  manservant 
in  the  corridor  to  prevent  any  one  from  obtruding  upon 
her.  She  found  that  the  fear  of  being  late  made  her 
nervous  and  ill. 

And  before  the  end  of  her  second  week  she  received 
a  hint  that  Lady  Effingham,  though  herself  so  high 
an  official  in  the  Royal  Household,  had  failed  to  inter¬ 
pret  aright  her  apparent  brusqueness  when  they  had 
met  in  the  passage  and  Fanny  was  rushing  to  get  on 
her  dress.  It  was  Mrs.  Delany  who  found  this  out, 
and  she  advised  Fanny  to  go  to  Lady  Effingham’s 
country  seat  at  Stoke  Place,  to  make  an  explanation 
and  offer  an  apology.  The  Queen’s  leave  for  this 
excursion  had  of  course  to  be  obtained,  but  as  this 
was  the  first  time  that  Fanny  had  to  ask  for  “an 
evening  out,”  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  that  she  did 
not  satisfy  herself  as  to  the  best  way  to  go  about  it. 
She  records,  however,  that  she  was  glad  of  this  chance 
of  “trying  the  length  of  her  liberty,”  for  she  had  made 
up  her  mind  that  she  would  not  be  as  her  predecessor 
had  been  in  regard  to  her  going  out  and  coming  in  : 
Mrs.  Haggerdorn,  she  was  informed,  had  never  stirred 


THE  QUEEN’S  BELL 


173 


out  of  sound  of  the  bell ;  she  had  no  friends  outside 
the  Palace  ;  “  but,  thank  God,”  wrote  Fanny,  “  I  am 
not  in  the  same  situation.” 

When  she  came  to  tell  her  senior  colleague,  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg,  that  lady  was  astonished,  but  appar¬ 
ently  she  offered  no  comment  upon  so  unprecedented 
an  incident  as  an  attendant  absenting  herself  for  a 
whole  afternoon.  But  even  if  Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
had  remonstrated  with  her,  Fanny  would  still  have 
gone  ;  for  the  mood  was  on  her  to  stand  up  against 
that  person  :  she  had  an  idea  that,  just  as  she  had 
forfeited  her  right  to  have  a  souper  complet  every 
night  because  she  had  said  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
that  she  would  only  eat  a  little  fruit  before  retiring, 
so,  by  refraining  from  inviting  any  guest  to  the  table 
which  they  had  in  common,  she  had  forfeited  her 
privileges  in  this  direction,  and  she  was  determined 
not  to  yield  another  inch  to  the  Senior  Robe-keeper. 

And  so  she  went  with  Mrs.  Delany  to  pay  her  visit 
to  the  Lady  of  the  Bedchamber  and  was  very  kindly 
received  by  her  and  her  husband.  But  we  may  be 
sure  that  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  sitting  alone  at  her 
dinner,  made  up  her  mind  that  such  independence  of 
action  should  be  checked.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  must 
have  recalled  the  good  old  days  when  she  and  another 
nonentity  of  the  same  nationality  had  stood  one  on  each 
side  of  their  Royal  countrywoman,  speaking  no  word 
that  was  not  German,  and  having  no  interest  in  the 
world — no  aspiration  beyond  seeing  that  Her  Majesty 
was  comfortably  disposed  of  for  the  night.  Schwellen¬ 
berg  and  Haggerdorn  !  Not  by  any  means  a  pair  of 


174 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


nonentities.  The  latter  only  is  a  nonentity  to  us  in 
these  days ;  the  former  has  had  the  Tithonus  gift  of 
immortality  conferred  upon  her  by  the  little  lady 
whom  she  must  have  despised  for  her  flippancy  in 
preferring  to  visit  Lady  Effingham  at  Stoke  rather 
than  drink  coffee  tHe-a-tete  with  a  Schwellenberg. 

But  Fanny  Burney,  after  her  evening  out,  settled 
down  to  her  duties  as  firmly  as  the  most  adroit  of  the 
nonentities  around  her,  whose  names  she  was  rescu¬ 
ing  from  oblivion  ;  and  we  do  not  hear  of  her  being 
often  late  after  she  had  received  a  visit  from  the 
lively  Mrs.  Hastings,  wife  of  Warren  Hastings,  who 
had  detained  her  one  day,  thereby  causing  the  sentry 
servant  to  pace  the  corridor  every  forenoon  to  keep 
off  visitors,  lively  or  otherwise.  Among  these  duties, 
it  may  be  mentioned,  was  the  mixing  of  snuff  for  Her 
Majesty’s  own  absorption.  It  appears  that  she  did 
this  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  the  Royal  lady.  It 
was  the  etiquette  of  the  Court  that  the  blending  was 
to  be  done  by  the  Second  Keeper  of  the  Robes.  The 
Queen  was  not  abstemious  in  the  matter  of  snuff ; 
but  she  was  a  very  humble  devotee  to  the  practice 
compared  with  one  of  her  sons,  at  whose  death  five 
tons  of  various  blends  were  found  in  his  cellars. 

By  the  end  of  her  first  fortnight  in  the  service  of 
the  Queen,  Fanny  Burney  had  become  acquainted 
with  the  full  range  of  her  duties  at  all  the  Royal 
residences.  At  the  beginning  of  her  second  week  the 
Court  moved  to  Kew.  Here  the  accommodation  for 
the  King  and  Queen  and  their  Household  was  of  the 
most  meagre  sort,  and,  in  consequence,  the  mode  of  life 


THE  QUEEN’S  BELL 


175 


of  all  was  considerably  modified,  though  at  Windsor 
it  certainly  did  not  err  on  the  side  of  display.  The 
Royal  Lodge  was  uncommonly  like  a  Royal  barrack. 
There  were  staircases  in  every  passage,  and  passages 
to  every  closet.  “  I  lost  myself  continually  only  in 
passing  from  my  own  room  to  the  Queen’s,”  Fanny 
wrote.  Before  she  had  been  for  many  minutes  under 
the  roof,  her  guide  to  her  room  being  Miss  Planta, 
one  of  the  teachers  to  the  Princess  Royal  and  her 
sister  Augusta,  she  was  made  aware  of  the  absence 
of  ceremony  in  this  queer  building,  for  when  she  was 
in  the  act  of  being  piloted  to  her  room  she  heard  the 
King’s  voice  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  She  made 
one  of  those  rushes  to  cover  to  which  she  was  be¬ 
coming  accustomed,  but  she  was  too  late ;  before  she 
could  close  the  door  of  her  sitting-room  behind  her 
His  Majesty  was  by  her  side.  He  had  with  him  a 
surveyor,  to  whom  he  was  giving  instructions  respect¬ 
ing  alterations — they  were  bound  to  be  improvements 
— in  the  accommodation  for  the  suite  ;  but  apparently 
finding  that  the  apartment  was  comfortable  enough, 
he  merely  smiled  at  the  occupant,  good-humouredly 
remarking  that  she  was  in  possession,  and  walked  out 
to  see  what  he  could  do  in  another  direction. 

At  the  Kew  Lodge  the  Queen  did  not  appear  to 
find  early  prayers  a  necessity  ;  consequently  she  rose 
later  and  dressed  more  plainly.  Both  she  and  the 
King  walked  about  quite  unattended.  The  absence 
of  a  second  sitting-room  gave  Miss  Burney  the 
privilege  of  an  unbroken  day  by  the  side  of  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg,  and  there  were  no  equerries  to  be 
entertained  at  tea-time. 


176 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


But  two  days  after  their  arrival  at  Kew  they  had 
all  to  go  off  to  London  for  the  holding  of  a  Court 
at  St.  James’s.  Here  all  was,  of  course,  ceremony 
of  the  strictest  form.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  went  at 
once  on  their  reaching  the  Palace  to  the  Queen’s 
dressing-room,  Miss  Planta  to  the  Princesses’  apart¬ 
ments,  and  Miss  Burney  to  the  rooms  that  had 
been  assigned  to  her  to  await  developments,  for 
it  would  never  have  done  to  give  her  a  chance 
of  making  a  mistake  in  regard  to  the  rite  of 
apparelling  Her  Majesty.  It  is  greatly  to  be  feared 
that  Miss  Burney  was  thinking  more  of  the  outside 
than  the  inside  of  the  Palace  just  at  this  time,  for  she 
records  the  satisfaction  she  felt  on  observing  that 
there  was  a  private  staircase  to  her  corridor  from  the 
passage  between  the  Park  and  St.  James’s  Street,  so 
that  she  might  appoint  any  friend  of  her  own  to  meet 
herin  her  rooms  on  a  Court  day.  “  I  hope  never  to 
be  there  again  without  making  use  of  the  privilege,” 
she  wrote. 

But  on  the  day  of  her  making  the  acquaintance  of 
these  handy  rooms  she  had  not,  of  course,  a  chance  of 
availing  herself  of  the  opportunity  they  offered  her  of 
stealing  an  hour  or  two  from  Royalty  to  friendship  ; 
so  she  sent  her  manservant  off  to  borrow  a  pen,  ink, 
and  paper  from  one  of  the  pages,  and  occupied  herself 
writing  letters  until  Mrs.  Leverick,  the  town  Ward¬ 
robe-woman,  summoned  her  to  attend  upon  the 
Queen’s  dressing  en  grande  tenue ;  and  upon  this 
occasion  the  duties  of  the  Second  Keeper  of  the 
Robes  seemed  to  be  confined  to  a  chat  with  the 


THE  QUEENS  BELL 


177 


Princesses,  while  Her  Majesty,  having  been  robed, 
went  to  speak  to  the  Duchess  of  Ancaster  in  the  ante¬ 
room.  Fanny  was  still  so  engaged  when  the  Queen 
returned  and  the  bell  was  rung  for  the  Bedchamber- 
woman  in  attendance,  to  complete  the  dressing,  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  inflexible  rule  of  the  Palace  to  provide  at 
least  a  pretence  of  employment  for  all  the  worthy 
ladies  in  the  Household.  By  no  means  arduous  were 
the  labours  of  the  Robe-keeper.  She  only  tied 
on  the  Royal  necklace  and  handed  the  Royal  fan 
and  gloves  ;  but  then  came  the  more  fatiguing  duty  of 
bearing  the  Royal  train  from  the  dressing-room  to  the 
ante-room.  It  was  supposed  that  she  would  be 
thoroughly  exhausted  at  this  stage,  for  the  Lady  of 
the  Bedchamber  had  to  be  summoned,  and  she  took 
up  the  burden  of  the  train,  and  so  the  procession 
went  to  the  Drawing-room,  and  the  ceremony  of 
Presentations  was  proceeded  with. 

Fanny  Burney  gave  all  these  details  in  the  next  of 
her  Diary-letters  after  returning  to  Kew  and  thence 
to  Windsor ;  but  she  gave  no  sign  of  being  in  the 
least  measure  interested  in  what  she  was  discoursing 
about ;  and  it  is  greatly  to  be  feared  that  her  heart 
was  not  in  her  work — her  work  being  clearly  no  more 
than  waiting  for  something  to  do.  She  had  plenty  of 
time  for  thinking,  and  all  her  thoughts  were  centred 
upon  the  interesting  world  outside  the  environs  of 
Royalty.  She  had  had  her  experience  of  drawing¬ 
rooms  in  which  court  was  paid  to  the  young  writer 
who  had  captured  men’s  hearts  and  women’s  minds 
with  Evelina  and  Cecilia ,  these  two  princesses  of  her 

13 


178 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


genius ;  and  the  ceremony  that  was  going  on  at  the 
Royal  Drawing  -  room  had  but  the  most  languid 
interest  for  her.  Fanny  Burney,  the  author,  whose 
name  had  been  on  all  lips  a  few  years  earlier  and  who 
was  still  unforgotten  by  the  greatest  intellects  in 
England,  was  here  playing  a  much  less  important  part 
than  the  most  frivolous  of  the  debutantes  whom  the 
Queen  delighted  to  honour.  She  felt  as  far  out  of 
her  proper  sphere  as  a  great  inventor  must  feel  when 
a  witness  in  a  court  of  law,  where  the  usher  appears 
to  be  a  person  of  overwhelming  importance  and  a 
junior  counsel  alludes  to  him  by  his  surname  only 
and  is  permitted  to  be  impertinent  at  his  expense, 
while  he  himself  is  sternly  rebuked  should  he  make 
an  attempt  to  retaliate. 

But  knowing  that  her  letters  would  be  read  by  her 
father,  she  uttered  no  complaint  in  any  of  them  ;  and 
she  knew  that  by  the  other  members  of  her  family 
the  simplest  account  of  transactions  involving  intimacy 
with  Royal  personages  would  be  read  with  intense 
interest.  They  would  undoubtedly  believe  that  she 
was  having  a  most  delightful  time,  going  about  from 
one  palace  to  another,  visiting  the  Queen  at  least 
three  times  a  day  and  being  visited  by  the  Princesses 
quite  as  often,  drinking  tea  with  gentlemen  in  Windsor 
uniform  every  evening,  and  being  driven  about  in 
coaches  bearing  the  Royal  arms,  by  coachmen  in 
scarlet  livery ! 

She  wrote  nothing  to  undeceive  them.  She  had 
set  her  hand  to  the  plough  and  she  would  not  look 
back — at  least,  if  she  did  look  back,  it  would  only  be 


THE  QUEEN’S  BELL 


179 


when  no  one  was  looking  at  her.  Nor  was  she  really 
dissatisfied  altogether  with  her  life.  To  such  an  in¬ 
stinctive  student  of  men  and  women  as  she  undoubtedly 
was,  there  is  a  certain  satisfaction — a  naturalist’s 
interest — in  passing  new  specimens  under  the  micro¬ 
scope  ;  there  is  a  certain  joy  in  dissecting  them  and 
noting  their  characteristics  and  peculiarities,  and  this 
form  of  interest  was  certainly  hers  for  some  time  after 
her  arrival  at  Windsor.  It  is  only  when  one  reads 
carefully  between  the  lines  of  her  letters  to  her  rela¬ 
tives  that  one  comes  to  perceive  how  much  out  of 
place  she  felt  at  the  homely  Kew  as  well  as  at  the 
formal  St.  James’s. 

A  little  later,  a  day  came  when  she  was  being  stung 
furiously  by  one  of  the  specimens  whom  she  had  the 
best  chance  of  studying  and  of  whom  she  has  left  an 
account  that  would  satisfy  the  most  exacting  student  of 
the  genus  vespa.  It  does  not  need  any  scrutiny  between 
the  lines  of  her  records  regarding  Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
to  make  us  aware  of  all  that  she  suffered  at  the  hands 
of  this  German  terror.  The  breaking  strain  of  her 
sufferance  was  reached  at  this  point;  and  she  described 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg  without  reserve.  Mrs.  Schwellen¬ 
berg  was  one  of  those  objects  that  are  provided  by 
Nature  to  enable  an  artist  to  give  their  legitimate 
value  to  the  low  tones  as  well  as  the  high  in  any 
pictorial  reproduction  which  he  may  attempt  of  a 
scene  before  his  eyes.  But  it  can  scarcely  be  said 
that  Fanny  Burney  fully  understood  the  position 
occupied  by  this  incident  in  the  Royal  Pleasance 
which  she  was  depicting  in  a  thoroughly  artist-like 


180 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


way.  She  behaved  as  unreasonably  (so  we  think 
nowadays,  when  we  look  at  the  matter  from  the 
detached  standpoint  of  abstract  art)  as  might  a  painter 
who,  after  putting  the  last  touches  to  a  masterly 
representation  of  a  thunder-cloud,  grumbles  loudly 
because  he  gets  soused  before  reaching  home. 

Before  referring  fully  to  the  relations  between 
Fanny  Burney  and  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  it  is,  however, 
necessary  to  refer  to  some  more  pleasing  matters 
recorded  in  the  Diary. 


THE  PRINCESSES 


CHAPTER  XIII 


THE  PRINCESSES 

FANNY  BURNEY  had  naturally  many  oppor¬ 
tunities  of  meeting  the  daughters  of  George 
III.  and  Queen  Charlotte.  The  six  Princesses  were 
still  under  the  maternal  wing — the  nine  brothers  had 
gone  out  into  the  world,  where  in  due  course  they 
made  names  for  themselves,  but  not  exactly  as 
exponents  of  domesticity.  If  they  loved  Handel 
greatly,  they  contrived  to  conceal  the  fact ;  they  turned 
their  genius  for  loving  toward  objects  less  severe  in 
outline  than  oratorios  with  a  tendency  to  become 
classic.  But  the  six  girls  remained  at  “  home,”  and 
so  long  as  Fanny  Burney  was  in  attendance  upon 
their  mother,  showed  no  inclination  to  depart.  It  was 
not  until  she  had  severed  her  connection  with  the 
Royal  Household  that  some  of  them  became  restive 
and  others  enterprising.  They  got  talked  about,  and 
when  a  Princess  is  talked  about  the  result  is  called  a 
scandal.  Now,  ready  as  people  always  have  shown 
themselves  to  gossip  about  the  members  of  the  Royal 
Family,  there  never  was  a  time  when  this  natural 
tendency  was  yielded  to  with  more  malice  than  during 
the  last  years  of  the  eighteenth  century  and  the  early 
years  of  the  nineteenth,  when  the  scandals  were 

183 


184 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


most  rife  in  regard  to  two  of  the  Princesses — we 
cannot  think  of  the  affection  that  existed  between  the 
Princess  Amelia  and  Colonel  FitzRoy,  one  of  her 
father’s  equerries,  in  the  light  of  a  scandal,  otherwise 
we  should  have  to  write  three  instead  of  two. 

But  there  is  really  no  evidence  that  any  one  of  them 
was  guilty  of  more  than  a  casual  indiscretion.  The 
writer  of  these  chapters  had  in  his  possession  a  few  years 
ago  a  letter  written  by  a  lady  attached  to  the  Court  when 
one  of  these  scandals  was  spreading  itself  abroad,  and 
this  document  ridiculed  the  suggestion  in  a  way  that 
would  convince  any  one  capable  of  judging  a  matter 
on  legitimate  evidence,  and  not  on  the  basis  of 
the  irresponsible  chatter  of  scandalmongers,  that  no 
foundation  for  the  rumour  existed.  And  yet  the 
merest  allusion  to  the  matter  in  the  columns  of  a 
magazine  was  sufficient  to  cause  a  visit  to  be  paid  to 
him  by  a  person  who  claimed  to  have  a  very  close 
connection  with  the  indiscretion  which  had  just  been 
proved  never  to  have  taken  place. 

In  our  own  day  we  have  had  instances  of  slanders 
upon  Royalty  gaining  ground  even  in  the  most 
intelligent  circles,  although  the  crudest  and  most 
cursory  examination  of  the  details  of  the  alleged 
incidents  would  have  shown  that  it  was  impossible 
they  could  ever  have  happened. 

We  are  not  conscious  of  any  digression  in  touching 
upon  this  matter  in  connection  with  Fanny  Burney’s 
account  of  the  young  Princesses,  for  such  an  arriere 
penste  as  is  suggested  by  the  hints  of  some  historians 
of  the  period — rather  more  than  hints  of  others — would 


THE  PRINCESSES 


185 


go  far  to  destroy  the  simple  charm  of  the  series  of 
pictures  of  the  Princesses  which  are  contained  in  the 
pages  of  her  Diary  during  some  interesting  years  of 
their  lives. 

The  six  girls  undoubtedly  favoured  their  father  in 
looks  rather  than  their  mother.  “  Never  in  tale  or 
fable  were  there  six  sister  Princesses  more  lovely,” 
wrote  Fanny,  when  she  had  had  some  months’ 
experience  of  them.  They  were  indeed  exception¬ 
ally  handsome  and  exceptionally  accomplished  even 
in  those  days  of  handsome  and  accomplished 
women.  They  spoke  several  languages  and  were 
acquainted  with  some  carefully  selected  passages 
from  the  literature  of  several  countries.  Some  had 
a  fair  knowledge  of  music — a  good  deal  wider  than 
was  possessed  by  Fanny  Burney,  the  daughter  of  one 
of  the  foremost  musicians  of  the  day — and  they  were 
also  good  needlewomen,  without  showing  undue 
ambition  to  produce  those  pictures  in  silk  or  tinsel 
which  gave  harmless  employment  and  enjoyment  to 
so  many  young  ladies  of  the  period.  Happily,  it  is 
not  recorded  against  the  Princesses  that  they  allowed 
themselves  to  be  instructed  by  good  Mrs.  Delany  in 
her  art  of  paper-flower-making,  or  that  they  emulated 
the  taste  of  their  great-grandmother,  the  illustrious 
Caroline,  who  thought  all  the  world  of  a  hat  trimmed 
with  feathers  in  imitation  of  Brussels  lace,  though  one 
of  them  cultivated  the  art  of  cuttingout  silhouetted 
portraits. 

They  were  well-trained  girls,  and  did  not  differ  from 
other  young  ladies  of  their  day  in  having  their  reading 


186 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


carefully  chosen  for  them.  One  of  them  was  twenty- 
six  when  she  ventured  to  ask  her  mother’s  leave  to 
read  a  novel.  Fanny  Burney  has  no  word  to  say 
about  them  that  is  not  in  praise  of  their  good  looks 
and  their  charming  manners.  From  the  Princess 
Royal,  who  was  twenty,  down  to  the  Princess  Amelia, 
who  was  three,  all  are  referred  to  as  delightful, 
unaffected,  and  gracious  girls,  devoted  to  their  father 
and  mother,  and  submitting  without  a  murmur  to  the 
barrack-yard  monotony  incidental  to  their  exalted 
station  in  life.  To  any  one  who  is  made  acquainted 
with  the  conditions  of  their  life,  the  stories  referring 
to  the  indiscretions  of  some  of  them  seem  not  only 
plausible  but  pardonable  as  well ;  and  that  is  doubt¬ 
less  why  they  were  believed  on  no  more  conclusive 
evidence  than  that  human  nature  will  still  be  human 
nature,  and  if  there  is  no  more  interesting  person  at 
hand  than  a  Royal  Equerry,  he  will  seem  attractive 
to  the  eyes  of  a  Princess  of  the  Blood. 

But  as  they  appear  in  the  series  of  delightful 
pictures  painted  by  Fanny  Burney,  there  is  not  one 
of  them  that  is  not  simple  and  charming.  They 
supply  the  little  bits  of  colour  on  the  somewhat  drab 
genre  paintings  which  the  pages  of  the  Diary  suggest 
to  us — the  elements  of  youth  and  joy  in  the  midst  of 
all  that  is  elderly  and  sober.  Somehow  we  feel  that 
Fanny  Burney  was  a  good  deal  younger  than  her  age 
— not  in  spite  of,  but  on  account  of  her  reputation  for 
prudishness  :  it  is  only  very  young  girls  whose 
prudishness  calls  for  remark ;  and  so  we  can  quite 
realise  how  these  gracious  young  girls  welcomed  her 


THE  PRINCESSES 


187 


to  their  circle  and  were  so  pleased,  as  she  assures  us 
they  were,  every  time  they  came  in  contact  with  her. 
She  makes  but  few  attempts  to  differentiate  between 
the  elder  girls  ;  but  when  she  has  occasion  to  refer  to 
the  youngest,  the  Princess  Amelia,  she  does  so  very 
lovingly,  and  all  the  time  we  are  reading  what  she 
wrote  about  the  child,  we  have  the  impression  of  look¬ 
ing  atone  of  Sir  J oshua  Reynolds’s  pictures  of  childhood 
— gentle,  caressing,  full  of  vitality,  irresistible  in  her 
innocence.  There  is  no  one  of  Sir  Joshua’s  children 
that  does  not  show  a  willingness  to  get  on  affectionate 
terms  with  us,  and  we  are  conscious  of  this  impression 
exactly  when  Fanny  Burney  brings  this  dainty  little 
girl  before  us.  Of  course,  knowing  her  story — the 
only  story  with  a  touch  of  pathos  and  romance  in  it 
of  all  the  stories  of  the  family — we  are  the  more 
interested  in  these  accounts  of  the  childhood  of  the 
Princess  Amelia — the  happy  childhood  that  preceded 
an  unhappy  womanhood  and  an  early  death. 

Fanny  Burney  met  her  when  the  first  move  to  Kew 
was  made,  within  a  week  of  her  entering  the  Queen’s 
service.  The  Princess  was  in  the  dressing-room  with 
her  mother  when  Fanny  was  summoned  for  the  after¬ 
noon  toilette,  and  she  described  her  as  a  lovely 
child,  “  full  of  sense,  spirit,  and  playful  prettiness  ;  yet 
decorous  and  dignified  when  called  upon  to  appear 
en  Princesse  to  any  strangers,  as  if  conscious  of  her 
high  rank  and  of  the  importance  of  condescendingly 
sustaining  it.  This  little  Princess,  thus  in  infancy  by 
practice  and  example  taught  her  own  consequence, 
conducts  herself  upon  all  proper  occasions  with  an  air 


188 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


of  dignity  that  is  quite  astonishing,  though  her  natural 
character  seems  all  sport  and  humour.” 

That  mention  of  the  child’s  assumption  of  dignity 
still  more  strongly  suggests  one  of  Sir  Joshua’s 
children — it  is  a  touch  that  increases  in  a  surprising 
measure  the  effect  of  the  pathos  of  childhood  in  the 
portrait. 

The  Queen  asked  her  Robe-keeper  to  take  the 
little  girl  downstairs  to  her  father,  and  the  Princess, 
giving  her  “a  grave  and  examining  look,”  showed  her 
companion  the  way  into  the  garden,  where  the  King 
was  waiting  for  her. 

A  fortnight  later  the  little  Princess’s  birthday  was 
celebrated.  It  was  an  opportune  incident.  An 
attempt  had  just  been  made  by  the  madwoman, 
Margaret  Nicholson,  to  stab  the  King  at  the  moment 
of  his  descending  from  his  coach  to  attend  a  levee  at 
St.  James’s  Palace.  The  woman  had  concealed  a 
knife  within  the  folds  of  a  pretended  petition  to  the 
King ;  but  she  had  rehearsed  the  scene  badly,  for, 
instead  of  holding  the  folded  paper  in  her  left  hand, 
drawing  the  knife  from  it  with  her  right,  she  reversed 
the  action,  and  was  therefore  so  awkward  about  it  that 
the  King  had  time  to  start  back,  and  only  when  she 
made  a  second  thrust  was  his  waistcoat  touched. 
He  was  concerned  about  the  garment,  and  cried  out : 

“  Has  she  cut  my  waistcoat?  ” 

Happily  the  waistcoat  as  well  as  the  King’s  life  was 
spared,  but  both  had  had  a  narrow  escape.  He 
explained  it  all  afterward  when  he  got  back  to 
Windsor,  showing  how  easily  a  stab  might  have  been 


THE  PRINCESSES 


189 


fatal,  “  for  there  was  nothing  for  her  to  go  through 
except  thin  linen  and  fat,”  he  assured  the  sympathetic 
circle. 

He  had  behaved  with  admirable  composure  upon 
this  trying  occasion,  protecting  the  wretched  woman 
from  the  fury  of  the  crowd,  and  then  holding  his  levee 
within  the  Palace  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Of 
course  he  was  the  subject  of  many  congratulations, 
official  and  otherwise,  and  the  occurrence  of  the  birth¬ 
day  of  his  youngest  daughter — his  partiality  for  her 
was  widely  known — appeared  to  the  people  of 
Windsor  most  opportune  in  giving  them  a  chance 
of  displaying  their  loyalty.  The  consequence  was 
that  the  Terrace  was  crowded  with  the  friends  and 
subjects  of  His  Majesty. 

All  the  elements  of  an  effective  picture  may 
be  found  in  the  bare  description  of  the  scene  by 
Fanny  Burney,  who  attended  this  informal  lev^e 
by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Delany’s  sedan  chair.  “  It 
was,”  she  wrote,  “a  mighty  pretty  procession.  The 
little  Princess,  just  turned  of  three  years  old,  in  a 
robe  coat  covered  with  fine  muslin,  a  dress  close  cap, 
white  gloves  and  a  fan,  walked  on  alone  and  first, 
highly  delighted  in  the  parade,  and  turning  from  side 
to  side  to  see  everybody  as  she  passed.  .  .  .  Then 
followed  the  King  and  Queen,  no  less  delighted  them¬ 
selves  with  the  joy  of  their  little  darling.”  In  due 
order  came  the  Princess  Royal,  the  Princess  Augusta, 
the  Princess  Elizabeth,  the  Princess  Mary,  and  the 
Princess  Sophia,  each  attended  by  a  member  of  the 
Household. 


190 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


And  then  comes  a  touch  of  something  more  than 
picturesqueness  in  the  description  of  the  scene  ;  for  on 
the  King  and  Queen  stopping  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Delany, 
the  little  girl  who  headed  the  procession  in  all  her 
childish  finery  turned  about  and  ran  up  to  greet  the 
venerable  lady,  which  she  did  “  behaving  like  a  little 
angel  to  her,”  and  later  turning  to  Fanny  herself, 
who  whispered  that  she  was  afraid  her  Royal  High¬ 
ness  would  not  remember  her. 

“And  what  think  you  was  her  answer?”  Fanny 
asks.  “  An  arch  little  smile,  and  a  nearer  approach, 
with  her  lips  pouted  out  to  kiss  me.” 

Miss  Burney  so  far  forgot  her  place  and  the  etiquette 
of  the  situation  as  to  accept  the  innocent  invitation  ;  if 
it  seemed  in  so  public  a  place  an  improper  liberty  for 
her  to  take,  there  was  no  help  for  it ;  the  thing  was 
done,  and  if  it  was  to  be  visited  upon  her  head  after¬ 
ward  by  any  official  of  the  Court,  she  could  only 
submit  to  his  jurisdiction  and  make  an  appeal  for 
clemency.  Happily,  the  untoward  incident  was  over¬ 
looked,  and  the  King  and  Queen  walked  on,  followed 
by  the  Princesses,  all  of  whom  made  curtsies  to  Miss 
Burney. 

Thackeray,  when  publishing  his  “Four  Georges’ 
lecture  in  Cornhill,  referred  happily  to  this  scene  on 
the  Terrace;  but  he  said  nothing  about  the  matter 
that  must  have  been  very  close  to  every  one  who 
saluted  the  King.  He  does  not  suggest  what  was 
the  topic  that  was  discussed  in  whispers  down  the 
long  line  of  people  standing  close  to  the  wall  while 
the  procession  passed — the  recent  escape  of  His 


THE  PRINCESSES 


191 


Majesty  from  the  knife  of  the  assassin.  Every  one 
must  have  been  talking  of  this  or  thinking  of  this, 
when  out  stepped  from  the  door  of  the  Queen’s  Lodge 
the  toddling  figure  of  the  little  lady,  a  few  yards  ahead 
of  the  father  of  whom  she  had  so  nearly  been  de¬ 
prived.  There  must  have  been  many  wet  eyes  on 
the  Terrace  that  summer  afternoon  when  the  band 
struck  up  “  God  save  the  King,”  and  the  guard  turned 
out  to  stand  with  their  muskets  at  the  present ;  but 
more  when  the  child  of  three  was  making  her  curtsey 
to  the  venerable  lady  of  eighty-six,  and  then  offering 
her  pouting  lips  to  be  kissed  by — whom  ?  was  the 
question  that  must  have  been  whispered.  “  What, 
Miss  Burney — the  author  of  Evelina  ?” 

Miss  Burney  had  suffered  somewhat  through  her 
acceptance  of  service  at  the  hands  of  the  Queen,  but 
her  feelings  at  that  moment  must  have  gone  far  to  com¬ 
pensate  her  for  what  she  had  lost  by  the  transaction. 

The  attachment  to  her  formed  by  this  child  seemed 
to  increase  daily,  and  it  was  now  and  again  a  source 
of  embarrassment  to  her.  When  at  Kew  the  Princess 
insisted  on  having  tea  in  her  room,  and  promised 
to  do  so  always.  A  little  latter  she  refused  to  go 
to  bed  unless  her  dear  Miss  Burney  undressed  her  — 
once  her  nurse  came  to  Miss  Burney  with  this  story, 
and  a  short  time  afterward  the  King  himself  smilingly 
brought  the  same  message.  He  was  also  commanded 
to  leave  the  room  by  his  imperious  little  daughter 
because  his  entrance  had  interrupted  a  romp  through 
which  she  was  piloting  her  Miss  Burney.  Very 
sweet  too  is  the  story  told  in  the  Diary  of  the  little 


192 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


Princess’s  adding  to  her  evening  prayers,  of  her  own 
accord,  a  petition  for  the  recovery  of  Mrs.  Delany, 
who  was  ill :  “Please,  God,  make  Lany  well  again.” 

The  elder  sisters  had  also  a  great  regard  for  Fanny, 
but  it  was  naturally  tempered  by  knowledge.  They 
undoubtedly  found  her  a  good  deal  more  interesting 
than  the  majority  of  the  Royal  entourage,  and  in 
the  intolerable  dullness  of  their  lives  they  looked  for 
relief  to  their  mother’s  Robe-keeper.  We  hear  of 
a  message  being  brought  to  her  one  day  that  the 
Princesses  Mary  and  Sophia  were  at  Mrs.  Delany’s 
house  and  requested  her  presence  immediately.  This 
message  was,  however,  brought  to  her  by  her  servant 
John,  who  was  a  marvel  of  stupidity,  mixed  with 
presumption,  so  she  thought  it  prudent  to  write  to 
Mrs.  Delany’s  companion  to  ask  what  the  message 
really  was,  and  the  answer  was  returned  promptly 
that  the  two  Princesses  wanted  extremely  to  become 
acquainted  with  her,  and  had  been  complaining  that 
they  “never  had  a  chance  of  seeing  her,  though  the 
Princess  Amelia  did  so  frequently.” 

It  would  have  been  impossible  for  any  one  to  resist 
so  flattering  an  appeal,  so  Miss  Burney  went  to  them 
without  delay.  When  she  arrived  she  found  them 
silent  and  apparently  ashamed,  though  why  they 
should  have  been  so  it  is  impossible  to  say. 

The  three  eldest  Princesses  had  their  charms 
succinctly  defined  by  Fanny.  She  referred  to  them 
as  she  might  have  done  to  the  Three  Graces — or  as 
Dryden  did  to  the  “  Three  poets  in  three  distant  ages 
born,”  only  she  was  not  so  epigrammatic.  “  They 


THE  PRINCESSES 


193 


were  indeed  uncommonly  handsome,  each  in  their 
different  way,”  she  wrote  when  dealing  with  their 
appearance  fully  dressed  for  a  birthday ;  “the 
Princess  Royal  for  figure,  the  Princess  Augusta  for 
countenance,  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth  for  face.” 
The  distinction  between  the  charms  of  the  two  last 
named  is  too  subtle  to  be  fully  appreciated  in  these 
days  of  careless  criticism. 

The  eldest  of  the  sisters  was  gracious  to  her  from 
the  first,  and  so  was  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  even 
before  she  was  aware  of  the  Princess’s  identity. 
She  describes  how,  within  the  first  few  days  of  her 
entering  upon  her  duties,  she  was  in  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg’s  room  drinking  tea  with  the  equerries,  when 
“  the  door  opened  and  a  young  lady  entered,  upon 
whose  appearance  all  the  company  rose  and  retreated 
a  few  paces  backward,  with  looks  of  high  respect. 
She  advanced  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  and  desired 
her  to  send  a  basin  of  tea  into  the  music-room  for 
Mrs.  Delany  :  then  walking  up  to  me,  with  a  coun¬ 
tenance  of  great  sweetness,  she  said,  ‘  I  hope  you 
are  very  well,  Miss  Burney  ?  ’  I  only  curtsied,  and 
knew  not  till  she  left  the  room,  which  was  as  soon 
as  she  had  spoken  a  few  words  to  Major  Price,  that 
this  was  the  Princess  Elizabeth.” 

A  pretty  picture,  too,  she  draws  of  the  first  appear¬ 
ance  of  the  fifth  of  the  six  daughters,  who  in  1786 
was  just  eleven  years  of  age.  The  Queen  was  in 
the  habit  of  leaving  her  little  dog  in  charge  of 
Miss  Burney,  on  going  to  prayers,  and  this  day  the 
page  had  carried  off  the  dog,  leaving  the  basket 

14 


194 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


behind.  The  Princess  called  for  this  basket,  and 
when  Fanny  was  about  to  carry  it  for  her  to  the 
Queen’s  room,  would  not  allow  her  to  do  so,  but  took 
it  away  in  her  own  hands.  Shortly  afterward  she 
returned  with  some  German  books,  accompanying  the 
Princess  Royal,  and  they  remained  for  some  time 
labelling  the  volumes  and  chatting  away.  The 
Princess  Royal  also  insisted  on  carrying  the  books 
back  to  the  Queen,  cumbersome  though  they  were. 
Indeed,  during  the  whole  period  of  Miss  Burney’s  five 
years’  attendance  there  was  no  change  in  the  bearing 
of  these  Royal  girls  toward  her.  Particularly  during 
her  illnesses  were  they  unremitting  in  their  attention 
to  her ;  so  that  it  is  not  surprising  that  she  should  feel 
as  deeply  attached  to  them  as  did,  in  later  years,  the 
beautiful  Mrs.  Gwyn,  the  wife  of  Colonel  Gwyn, 
one  of  the  equerries.  Fanny  Burney  was  not  content 
to  refer  to  their  courtesy  and  gracious  manner  in  a 
general  way,  she  gave  instance  after  instance  of  their 
unaffected  graciousness,  and  no  one  can  read  these 
entries  in  the  Diary  without  the  deepest  pity  for  them 
all ;  for  none  of  the  six  could  be  said  to  have  attained 
happiness  even  through  one  of  those  by-paths  by 
which  Royalty  now  and  again  may  attain  its  heart’s 
desire. 


A  GALLERY  OF  PORTRAITS 


CHAPTER  XIV 


A  GALLERY  OF  PORTRAITS 

IF  any  young  novelist — or  for  that  matter,  any 
old  novelist — were  at  a  loss  for  fresh  “characters” 
he  could  hardly  do  better  than  apply  to  Fanny 
Burney.  In  that  part  of  her  Diary  which  deals 
with  the  days  preceding  her  acquaintance  with  the 
Queen  as  well  as  in  her  record  of  her  life  when 
Keeper  of  the  Robes,  one  finds  full-length  portraits 
as  well  as  kit-cats  and  miniatures  of  scores  of  people 
whose  character  and  whose  personality  are  depicted 
with  a  skill  that  enables  us  to  perceive  on  how  sound 
a  basis  her  fame  as  a  novelist  was  built.  Her  thumb¬ 
nail  sketches,  so  to  speak,  are  not  less  highly  finished 
than  her  complete  portraits.  A  man  or  woman  has 
but  to  cross  her  path — one  of  the  many  corridors  of 
the  Windsor  Lodge  or  the  Kew  barrack — for  a  single 
hour  to  allow  of  her  jotting  down  the  result  of  her 
observation — her  imaginative  insight  into  his  or  her 
character.  We  are  not  greatly  concerned  with  the 
question  of  the  accuracy  of  all  her  sketches  of  the 
nonentities  on  whom  she  conferred  individuality ; 
we  are  only  disposed  to  regard  them  as  we  do  the 
“  Portrait  of  a  Lady”  which  appears  on  the  walls  of 
every  gallery  :  if  the  breath  of  life  has  been  breathed 

197 


198 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


into  it  every  sketch  will  be  interesting ;  and  whether 
she  was  right  or  wrong  in  her  estimate  of  the  people 
whom  she  drew,  there  is  assuredly  the  warmth  of 
life  in  every  one  of  them.  A  touch  reveals  the 
personality  of  some  of  them,  and  gives  each  a  dis¬ 
tinctiveness,  not  to  say  a  distinction,  that  is  the  be- 
all  and  the  end-all  of  true  portraiture. 

She  could  have  made  a  score  of  novels  out  of 
the  characters  with  which  she  came  in  contact  during 
her  years  at  Court ;  but  unfortunately  that  bane  of 
“good  taste,”  which  has  prevented  many  novelists 
from  doing  the  work  which  they  were  most  capable 
of  doing,  stood  in  her  way,  so  that  we  are,  we  think, 
poorer  to-day  by  many  a  work  of  eighteenth-century 
fiction,  if  we  are  the  richer  by  a  Diary  of  interest  even 
when  it  deals  with  uninteresting  people  :  only  a  writer 
of  imagination  and  resource  can  arouse  the  interest 
of  a  reader  when  demonstrating  how  uninteresting 
certain  characters  can  be.  It  has  always  seemed 
to  us  that  it  was  her  consciousness  of  this  power 
that  enabled  Fanny  Burney  to  spend  five  years 
waiting  for  the  tinkle  of  the  Queen’s  bell.  The 
knowledge  that  she  was  compiling  a  chronicle  such 
as  had  never  before  been  compiled  was  her  salvation, 
even  though  it  was  only  meant  for  the  eyes  of  her  own 
family — the  unalterable  canon  of  good  taste  would 
prevent  her  from  looking  forward  to  its  reception  by 
the  world. 

When  one  day  it  dawned  on  some  of  the  slow- 
moving  intelligences  which  surrounded  her  that  she 
would  put  them  into  a  book,  there  was  consternation 


A  GALLERY  OF  PORTRAITS 


199 


within  the  circle.  It  naturally  took  them  some  time 
to  realise  this  hideous  possibility.  Some  of  them 
tried  to  laugh  away  their  fears,  others  in  bravado 
offered  her  the  copyright,  as  it  were,  of  their  individu¬ 
ality,  telling  her  that  she  might  do  her  worst ;  and 
when  Camilla  was  published  years  afterward,  we 
have  no  doubt  that  the  survivors  of  the  society  of 
the  ante-room  were  greatly  disappointed  to  find  that 
she  had  ignored  them  all — or  rather  that  she  had 
ignored  the  opportunity  of  “  showing  up  ”  their  neigh¬ 
bours  against  whom  they  bore  one  of  the  usual 
grudges  that  flourish  luxuriantly  in  ante-room  society. 

When,  later  still,  the  announcement  was  made  that 
the  Diary  was  to  be  published,  there  was  greater 
consternation  than  before  within  the  Royal  circle. 
One  of  the  Royal  Dukes  at  least  looked  for  “  revela¬ 
tions  ” — and  this  incident  gives  us  a  hint  as  to  the 
reticence  which  unhappily  “  good  taste  ”  enforced 
upon  Fanny  Burney  in  writing  up  her  journals — and 
he  was  annoyed  to  find  nothing  that  could  be  so 
described  in  its  pages — amazed  and  relieved  to  find 
that  theworst  that  Miss  Burney  had  done  was  to  be 
“  too  hard  on  old  Schwellenberg.” 

One  of  the  most  carefully  drawn  of  all  her  person¬ 
ages  was  a  Madame  de  la  Fite,  who  was  one  of  the 
“Readers” — it  seems  as  if  the  office  of  “Reader” 
was  conferred  as  a  sort  of  Regium  donum  upon 
people  whose  needs  could  not  be  relieved  through  the 
usual  eleemosynary  channels.  She  was  a  lady  whose 
qualities  of  “  gush  ”  were  only  equalled  by  her  per¬ 
sistency  and  her  imperviousness  to  snubs — one  of 


200 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


those  persons  whose  praise  of  another  is  so  indis¬ 
criminate  as  to  defeat  its  own  ends,  setting  up  the 
back  of  every  one  into  whose  ears  it  is  poured  against 
the  subject  of  the  eulogy.  The  Queen  told  Fanny 
that  she  had  been  greatly  prejudiced  against  her  on 
account  of  the  way  Madame  de  la  Fite  had  rhapso¬ 
dised  about  her  ;  but  this  confidence  was  not  given 
until  Fanny  had  showed  the  Queen  that  she  herself 
thoroughly  understood  the  lady’s  peculiarities.  But 
Madame  de  la  Fite  was  understood  by  every  one 
in  the  ante-chamber.  She  had  met  Fanny  at  first  at 
the  Streathfields’,  then  at  Norbury  Park,  where  she 
got  up  a  reading  of  a  play  of  her  friend,  Madame  de 
Genlis,  for  her  benefit,  which  Fanny  appreciated  so 
heartily  that  Madame  de  la  Fite  left  the  house  shed¬ 
ding  floods  of  tears  to  be  compelled  to  part  from  so 
delightful  a  friend. 

The  threads  of  this  friendship  were,  however, 
quickly  taken  up  again  when  Miss  Burney  came  to 
Windsor.  She  was  impatient  to  be  her  first  visitor, 
and  called  every  day,  writing  at  intervals,  until  her 
persistence  was  rewarded,  and  she  spent  some  time 
telling  Fanny  all  she  could  about  Mrs.  Haggerdorn. 
Still  she  kept  calling,  seeming  to  be  determined  that 
every  one  should  know  that  she  was  Miss  Burney’s 
patroness,  and  doubtless  hinting — we  have  many 
hints  to  induce  such  a  surmise — that  it  was  to  her 
good  offices  Miss  Burney  owed  her  appointment, 
though  it  was  really  through  her  officiousness  that 
Miss  Burney  very  nearly  missed  it. 

When  Fanny  called  to  return  her  visit,  she  kept  her 


A  GALLERY  OF  PORTRAITS 


201 


so  long  that,  as  we  have  already  mentioned,  she  was 
late  in  her  attendance  upon  the  Queen.  It  is  not 
necessary  to  refer  to  the  number  or  the  insistency 
of  the  appearances  of  this  lady  by  the  side  of  the 
unfortunate  Miss  Burney.  “  My  constant  Madame 
de  la  Fite,”  she  calls  her,  with  great  reason.  She 
could  have  got  on  well  enough  with  a  lapse  now  and 
again  into  inconstancy  on  the  part  of  Madame  de  la 
Fite.  When  the  attempt  was  made  upon  the  life  of 
the  King,  this  person  is  at  the  door  of  the  ante-room 
with  flowing  eyes  and  uplifted  hands.  “  O  mon 
Dieu  !  O  le  bon  Roi !  Oh,  Miss  Beurney,  what  an 
horreur !  ”  she  cries.  She  was  just  the  one  who 
should  have  been  absent  upon  such  an  occasion. 

Fanny  becomes  impatient  at  the  frequency  of  her 
visits.  “  She  calls  upon  me  almost  daily,  though  I 
can  scarce  speak  to  her  for  a  moment,”  she  complains, 
and  in  steps  the  woman  again  to  ask  permission  to 
present  Monsieur  Aime  Argand,  the  inventor  of  the 
lamp-burner  that  bears  his  name.  Well,  Monsieur 
Argand  comes,  and  his  introducer,  who  has  for  long 
been  trying  to  get  Fanny  to  correspond  with  Madame 
de  Genlis,  says  that  Monsieur  will  wait  upon  that 
lady  on  his  return  to  Paris  and  tell  her  that  he  has 
seen  Madame  de  la  Fite  and  Miss  Burney  together, 
and  surely  Miss  Burney  will  not  refuse  Monsieur 
Argand  the  happiness  of  carrying  two  lines  from  one 
lady  so  celebrated  to  another. 

Now  Miss  Burney  felt  that  the  reputation  of 
Madame  de  Genlis,  apart  from  her  connection  with 
literature,  was  such  as  made  the  entering  on  a  corre- 


202 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


spondence  with  her  indiscreet,  and  she  knew  besides, 
that  if  she  were  to  do  so  through  Madame  de  la  Fite 
“  her  indiscreet  zeal  for  us  both  would  lead  her  to 
tell  her  successful  mediation  to  everybody  she  could 
make  hear  her.  ...  Not  content  with  continual  im¬ 
portunity  to  me  to  write  ever  since  my  arrival,  which 
I  have  evaded  as  gently  as  possible  .  .  .  she  has 
now  written  to  Madame  de  Genlis  that  I  am  here 
belonging  to  the  same  Royal  Household  as  herself ; 
and  then  came  to  tell  me,  that  as  we  were  now  so 
closely  connected,  she  proposed  our  writing  jointly, 
in  the  same  letter.” 

Poor  Fanny  should  have  been  spared  the  infliction 
of  such  a  friendship.  But  she  had  tact  enough  to 
save  herself  from  the  consequences  of  what  might  be 
regarded  by  the  Powers  as  a  grave  indiscretion.  She 
hastened  to  Mrs.  Delany  for  advice,  and  Mrs.  Delany 
told  her  to  lay  her  case  before  the  Queen.  With 
infinite  faltering,  many  pauses  and  continual  hesita¬ 
tion,  she  managed  to  let  the  Royal  lady  know  of 
her  difficulty,  and  the  latter,  with  such  tact  as  Fanny 
could  never  hope  to  exceed,  advised  her  that  as  she 
had  not  already  begun  to  write  to  the  witty  French¬ 
woman,  she  would  do  well  to  refrain  from  doing  so, 
assigning  as  a  reason  the  number  of  her  engage¬ 
ments. 

But  Madame  de  la  Fite  was  not  to  be  snubbed. 
In  she  marches  a  few  days  later  to  say  that  she  had 
invited  Madame  de  la  Roche,  a  lady  who  enjoyed 
the  distinction  of  having  been  the  first  love  of  the 
poet  Wieland,  to  Windsor  to  meet  her  “  chere  Miss 


A  GALLERY  OF  PORTRAITS 


203 


Beurney.”  Then  Fanny  found  it  necessary  to  put 
her  foot  down.  It  was  in  vain  that  her  visitor  de¬ 
clared  that  if  she  did  not  so  favour  her  she  must  be 
covered  with  disgrace  ;  Fanny  answered  firmly  that 
to  give  her  permission  was  quite  out  of  her  power. 
4‘  And  why  ? — and  wherefore  ? — and  what  for  ?  ”  cried 
the  insistent  person.  “  Surely  for  Madame  de  la 
Roche  !  une  femme  d' esprit — mon  amie — l’amie  de 
Madame  de  Genlis - ” 

The  Queen’s  bell  rang  and  the  Robe-keeper, 
half  disrobed  herself,  rushed  out  of  the  room  to 
answer  it. 

The  woman  was  too  much  for  Fanny.  She  walked 
in  the  next  day  and  was  followed  by  Madame  de  la 
Roche,  and  then  Fanny  learned  that  the  pair  had 
never  met  before  in  all  their  lives !  They  flung 
themselves  each  into  the  other’s  arms  with  cries  of, 
41  Ma  digne  amie  ! — est  il  possible  ? — te  vois-je  ?  ”  and 
before  they  had  quite  exhausted  themselves  all  the 
embrassades  were  transferred  to  “  La  digne  Miss 
Borni  ! — l' auteur  de  ‘  Cecile  ’  ?  d'  ‘  Evelina  ’  ? — non,  ce 
nest  pas  possible! — suis-je  si  heureuse  !  oui,  je  le  vois 
a  ses yeux ! — Ah!  que  de  bonheur  !  ”  &c. 

And  yet  Fanny,  while  impatient  of  such  demon¬ 
strations,  can  still  write  justly  of  both  these  ladies : 
44  I  fairly  believe  they  are  both  good  women  and  both 
believe  themselves  sincere.” 

Madame  de  la  Roche  told  her  that  she  had  already 
seen  some  of  the  sights  of  England — Bedlam,  Lord 
George  Gordon,  the  famous  rioter,  and  Cagliostro! 
Surely  the  nation  had  little  more  to  offer  her.  It 


204 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


is  to  be  feared  that,  after  these  sights,  little  Miss 
Burney  must  have  seemed  tres  petite. 

But  we  soon  discover  that  it  was  not  to  see  “  Miss 
Borni,”  but  to  be  seen  by  her,  that  Madame  de  la 
Roche  had  come  to  Windsor.  She  called  on  the  next 
Sunday  and  told  Fanny  the  story  of  her  life — of  the 
beautiful  love  that  Mr.  Wieland  bore  for  her,  and 
how  he  had  tried  to  console  himself  for  having  failed 
to  win  her  by  throwing  himself  at  the  feet  of  an 
actress,  and  then  of  her  meeting  him  again,  a  la 
Charlotte ,  when  she  was  the  mother  of  three  children  ! 

It  was  a  beautiful  story,  and  was  “  told  in  so  touch¬ 
ing  and  pathetic  a  manner  .  .  .  that  I  could  scarcely 
believe  I  was  not  actually  listening  to  a  Clelia  or  a 
Cassandra  recounting  the  stories  of  her  youth,”  wrote 
Fanny. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Madame  de  la  Roche  was 
a  woman  of  imagination  and  possessed  a  good  work¬ 
ing  knowledge  of  the  elements  of  a  narrative  of  the 
genre  of  The  Sorrows  of  Werther. 

Madame  de  la  Fite  did  a  little  in  the  romancing 
line  herself.  She  it  was,  as  Fanny  heard  after¬ 
ward,  who  spread  abroad  a  report  that  the  dis¬ 
tinguished  author  of  Evelina  and  Cecilia  was  the 
heroine  of  a  very  pretty  love  story.  This  was 
when  she  met  Fanny  Burney  at  Norbury;  but  not 
content  with  that— -which,  by  the  way,  reached  the 
Queen’s  ear — this  foolish  flighty  Frenchwoman  must 
needs  write  a  book  describing  how  she  met  the 
charming  Miss  Burney,  with  the  result  that  they  fell 
in  love  with  each  other  at  the  first  glance. 


A  GALLERY  OF  PORTRAITS 


205 


When  this  book  found  its  way  to  Windsor  without 
Miss  Burney’s  knowing  of  its  existence,  there  was 
some  very  good  fun  made  of  it  among  the  equerries 
and  others  of  the  Household.  Mr.  Guiffardiere  began 
it  by  saying  gravely  that  he  was  about  to  ride  to 
Norbury  Park  to  see  the  spot — the  very  spot  where 
Madame  de  la  Fite  first  beheld  Miss  Burney. 

“  I  must  see  the  very — the  identical  piece  of  earth 
— I  shall  want  no  one  to  tell  me  what  it  is — I  must 
needs  feel  it  by  inspiration,”  cried  this  farceur. 

Fanny  thought  him  suddenly  bereft  of  his  senses  ; 
but  his  story  of  the  book  had  to  be  confirmed  by 
Miss  Planta  before  Fanny  could  believe  it.  The 
finishing  touch  in  the  ridiculous  account  of  the  meet¬ 
ing  at  Norbury  Park  was  in  the  bestowal  of  a  title 
upon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Locke :  she  wrote  alluding  to 
them  as  “  Lord  and  Lady  Locke  ”  ! 

So  she  went  on  with  her  affectations  until  Fanny 
retired  from  the  service  of  the  Queen,  trying  to 
introduce  her  friends  to  Miss  Burney,  and  becoming 
triste  and  reproachful  when  the  latter  evaded  her 
attentions — never  losing  an  opportunity  of  gushing, 
and  so  making  Fanny  feel  dreadfully  uncomfortable 
when  in  the  presence  of  other  people.  Could  any¬ 
thing  show  a  finer  power  of  observation  than  the 
concluding  sentence  of  one  entry  regarding  this  lady  ? 
She  approached  Fanny  in  a  roomful  of  equerries  and 
visitors,  crying,  “  Ma  chere  Mademoiselle  Beurnil — ma 
Ires  chere  amie  l ”  &c.  “Yet  all  the  time,”  continued 
the  observant  Diarist,  “  far  from  being  betrayed 
involuntarily  into  this  ecstasy,  her  eye  roved  so  round 


206 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


to  all  the  company,  to  see  if  they  witnessed  her 
rapture,  that  she  truly  never  found  a  moment  to 
examine  how  its  object  received  it !  ” 

Undoubtedly  this  Madame  de  la  Fite  served  to 
keep  Fanny  Burney’s  sense  of  comedy  from  being 
dormant  under  conditions  that  tended  somewhat 
to  this  end. 

Naturally,  the  persons  who  were  pleasanter 
characters  to  meet  do  not  afford  a  reader  of  the 
Diary  the  same  entertainment  as  do  those  whose 
characteristics  were  more  strongly  marked.  But  it  is 
really  surprising  how  few  of  them  can  be  called 
colourless  when  they  pass  under  the  hand  of  this 
admirable  artist.  The  gentleman  to  whom  she  intro¬ 
duces  us  as  “Mr.  Turbulent” — he  was  the  Rev. 
Charles  de  Guiffardiere,  one  of  the  Readers — cannot, 
however,  be  said  to  need  the  exercise  of  any  subtle 
skill  of  description  to  bring  him  before  us.  Macaulay 
calls  him  “  half-witted,”  and  this  fact  proves  with 
what  carelessness  Macaulay  read  the  matter  which 
served  him  as  an  excuse  for  writing  one  of  Macaulay’s 
Essays.  It  would  be  to  insult  the  power  of  dis¬ 
crimination  of  the  great  essayist  as  well  as  the  power 
of  description  of  the  great  Diarist  to  affirm  that  this 
“  Mr.  Turbulent  ”  exhibited  any  of  the  qualities  of  the 
half-witted ;  and  assuredly  Fanny  never  meant  to 
suggest  that  he  was  mentally  deficient.  On  the 
contrary,  even  when  he  was  teasing  her  and  behaving 
as  a  schoolboy  is  expected  to  do  when  on  a  holiday, 
she  never  ceases  to  appreciate  his  ability.  His 
fooling  is  the  fooling  of  a  man  who  knows  what  he 


A  GALLERY  OF  PORTRAITS 


207 


is  about ;  it  is  never  the  fooling  of  a  fool.  But  every 
one  knows  now  that  Macaulay’s  sole  aim  was  to 
exhibit  the  cleverness  of  Macaulay,  when  he  was  not 
bludgeoning  a  political  opponent — an  operation  in 
which  he  showed  greater  skill  than  he  did  in  his 
sword  practice. 

The  very  complete  account  which  Fanny  Burney 
gives  of  the  course  of  Mr.  Guiffardiere’s  argument 
when  they  were  discussing  a  question  of  femininity  is 
one  of  the  most  interesting  entries  in  all  the  Diary,  and 
certainly  one  of  the  most  highly  intellectual.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  imagine  a  more  lucid  or  more  forcible 
contention  than  that  which  she  attributes  to  him  when 
“he  protested  that  many  of  the  women  we  were  pro¬ 
scribing  were  amongst  the  most  amiable  of  the  sex — 
that  the  fastidiousness  we  recommended  is  never 
practised  by  even  the  best  part  of  the  world — and 
that  we  ourselves,  individually,  while  we  spoke  with 
so  much  disdain,  never  acted  up  to  our  doctrines  by 
using,  towards  all  fair  failers,  such  severity.” 

Upon  other  occasions  this  “Mr.  Turbulent”  could 
be  so  epigrammatic  in  the  Johnson  style  as  to  remind 
Fanny  very  strongly  of  her  old  friend  and  admirer. 
Referring  to  Walpole’s  turgid  tragedy,  The  Mysterious 
Mother ,  Macaulay’s  half-witted  clergyman  remarked 
that  the  author  had  “  chosen  a  plan  of  which  nothing 
can  equal  the  abomination  but  the  absurdity.”  Again 
Fanny  Burney  mentions  his  having  “supported  a  con¬ 
versation  extremely  instructive  and  lively  .  .  .  with  a 
fullness  of  memory  and  knowledge  that  taught  me 
very  highly  to  respect  his  abilities  and  acquirements.” 


208 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


He  was  unquestionably  a  most  brilliant  man,  and  the 
Diary  is  very  insistent  on  this  point,  although  the 
Diarist,  with  her  usual  frankness  on  such  points,  states 
that  there  was  something  about  him,  or  something 
about  her,  that  prevented  her  assimilating  with  him  in 
anything.  He  was,  however,  always  her  friend,  even 
when  he  was  teasing  her,  as  he  did  when  alone  with 
her  in  the  coach  on  the  way  to  London,  about  her 
being  a  “  mere  philosopher  ”  and  not  sound  on  the 
question  of  “revealed  religion.”  Once  he  nearly  suc¬ 
ceeded  in  establishing  a  rapprochement  between  her 
and  himself,  on  account  of  his  telling  the  King  some¬ 
thing  that  Fanny  did  not  believe  was  known  outside 
her  own  family — -an  extremely  benevolent  action  that 
had  been  done  by  her  brother  Charles.  (One  had  only 
to  say  something  good  about  her  father  or  a  brother 
or  a  sister  to  become  her  friend.)  On  meeting  “  Mr. 
Turbulent”  the  next  day  she  admits  that  she  was 
gracious  to  him  for  the  first  time.  Subsequently 
they  seem  to  have  relapsed  into  their  old  relations, 
which  may  best  be  described  as  founded  on  mutual 
admiration  of  an  intellectual  type. 

It  is  our  knowledge  of  how  distasteful  he  was  to 
her,  and  yet  of  the  freedom  with  which  she  acknow¬ 
ledges  his  abilities  and  records  the  good  things  that 
were  said  of  him  by  other  people,  from  the  Queen 
down,  that  convinces  us  that  we  can  place  our  trust 
implicitly  in  her  Diary.  We  cannot  but  feel  that  she 
is  absolutely  fair  in  all  her  references  to  the  people 
about  her.  In  reading  such  a  work  one  need  not 
fear  being  misled  by  the  judgments  of  the  writer 


A  GALLERY  OF  PORTRAITS 


209 


respecting  people  in  whose  favour  she  was  preju¬ 
diced.  What  we  have  to  be  careful  about  accept¬ 
ing  is  all  that  is  said  about  people  for  whom 
the  writer  had  some  animosity.  We  have,  how¬ 
ever,  scores  of  instances  of  Fanny  Burney’s  fairness 
on  every  hand.  Her  work  is  a  notable  example 
of  the  triumph  of  an  artistic  instinct  over  personal 
prejudice.  Hence  its  great  value  as  a  chronicle. 
She  had  to  turn  “Mr.  Turbulent”  out  of  the 
room  several  times — always  with  a  good  grace,  of 
course — and  she  petitioned  the  Queen  to  make  him 
travel  in  the  coach  with  the  equerries  rather  than  with 
herself ;  and  yet  she  has  written  nothing  about  him 
that  we  could  interpret  to  his  discredit.  She  makes 
us  like  him  and,  moreover,  feel  that  she  liked  him  to 
the  end,  though  his  boisterousness  got  on  her  nerves. 

Who,  for  instance,  could  fail  to  like  a  man  who 
could  behave  with  such  insouciance  as  he  showed  in 
regard  to  the  Princess  Royal  when  all  the  people  in 
the  room  were  frozen  into  statues  of  Etiquette — 
hinged  for  genuflection — on  her  entering  one  day  on 
an  errand  for  the  Queen?  When  the  Princess  was 
speaking  to  Fanny,  he  stood  behind  and  exclaimed 
a  demi-voix,  as  if  to  himself,  “  Comme  elle  est  jolie,  ce 
soir,  son  Altesse  Roy  ale  /”  And  then,  seeingjher  blush, 
he  clasped  his  hands,  in  pretended  confusion,  hiding 
his  head  and  saying,  “  Que  ferai-je  ?  The  Princess 
has  heard  me.” 

Then  comes  the  record  of  a  scene  which  amazed  the 
chronicler — there  is  a  horresco  referens  in  every  line 
in  her  record — for  on  the  Princess  asking  him  what 

15 


210 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


play  he  intended  reading  to  them  that  night  and  his 
archly  suggesting  La  Coquette  Corrigde,  she  replied 
with  a  laugh  that  she  wanted  no  French  plays  at  all, 
and  was  leaving  the  room,  when  he  got  between  her 
and  the  door,  and  declined  to  allow  her  to  depart  until 
she  had  cleared  herself  of  the  slur  which  he  said  would 
be  cast  upon  her  good  taste  for  coming  to  such  a  de¬ 
cision.  She  begged  Miss  Burney  to  pull  him  away 
from  the  door,  and  he  bowed,  hinting  that  Miss  Burney 
was  welcome  to  make  the  attempt.  So  this  amazing 
scene  of  badinage  went  on  until,  in  a  low  voice,  he  asked 
her  if  she  would  like  a  Danish  play  read,  the  allusion 
being  to  her  possible  marriage  with  the  Prince  Royal 
of  Denmark.  “  She  coloured  violently,”  Miss  Burney 
tells  us,  and  called  out,  “  Mr.  Turbulent,  how  can  you 
be  such  a  fool !  ”  He  bowed  to  the  ground,  but  did 
not  let  her  go  at  once  ;  but  in  a  few  moments  he  had 
her  in  a  good  humour  again,  and  she  ran  off,  with  a 
laughing  reply  to  his  suggestion  that,  after  all,  La 
Coquette  Corrigde  would  form  an  appropriate  reading 
for  the  evening. 

“What  say  you  to  Mr.  Turbulent  now?  ”  cries  the 
chronicler. 

Well,  we  know  exactly  what  criticism  to  pass  upon 
the  man  who  had  originality  enough  and  daring 
enough  to  evolve  a  scene  of  fun  and  badinage  out  of 
such  unpromising  materials  and  with  so  forbidding  a 
mise-en-scene.  The  young  Princess  must  have  glowed 
after  so  bright  an  incident  in  the  colourless  life  that 
she  was  compelled  to  live  among  the  fogies  of  the 
buckram  Court.  Fanny  knew  that  perfectly  well. 


A  GALLERY  OF  PORTRAITS 


211 


“  For  myself,  I  own,  when  I  perceived  in  him  this 
mode  of  conduct  with  the  Princess,  I  saw  his  flights, 
and  his  rattling  and  his  heroics,  in  a  light  of  innocent 
play,  from  exuberance  of  high  spirits  ;  and  I  looked 
upon  them,  and  upon  him,  in  a  fairer  light.” 

The  truth  was  that  this  unconventional  clergyman 
was  a  born  farceur ;  and  the  demure  Miss  Burney  had 
good  reason  for  getting  impatient  with  him  on  another 
occasion,  when,  on  the  Queen’s  back  being  turned 
upon  them  in  her  own  room,  he  began  making  signs 
to  the  Robe-keeper  with  his  eyebrows,  the  signifi¬ 
cance  of  which  she  could  not  fail  to  understand. 
“He  practises  a  thousand  mischievous  tricks  to 
confuse  me  in  the  Royal  presence,”  she  complains, 
and  with  great  justice  too.  But  all  the  same  she 
makes  us  like  this  Mr.  de  Guiffardiere,  whom  she  not 
inappropriately  renamed  “Mr.  Turbulent.” 


\ 


A  ROOMFUL  OF  COLONELS 


1 


CHAPTER  XV 


A  ROOMFUL  OF  COLONELS 


AMONG  the  members  of  the  Queen’s  entourage 
to  whom  Fanny  Burney  refers  under  a  name 
of  her  own  making  was  Colonel  Stephen  Digby,  the 
Vice-Chamberlain  to  the  Queen :  she  calls  him 
“  Colonel  Fairly.”  He  was  a  man  of  forty-four,  and 
married  to  a  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Ilchester.  He 
was  constantly  in  the  room  with  the  equerries,  and 
shared  with  them  the  privilege  of  having  tea  in  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg’s  apartment.  He  was  one  of  those  men 
whom  Miss  Burney  admired  by  reason  of  their  sterling, 
stolid  merit,  though  upon  the  occasion  of  their  first 
meeting  he  ran  the  risk  of  offending  her  for  some 
words  he  let  drop  respecting  her  friend  Mrs.  Hastings, 
the  wife  of  Warren  Hastings,  whose  strongest  partisan 
she  remained  during  his  persecution  and  trial.  The 
general  impression  that  prevails  nowadays  is  that 
Warren  Hastings  was  immolated  in  order  to  exhibit  the 
oratorical  powers  of  Burke  and  Sheridan  ;  and  this 
impression  may  not  be  so  far  from  the  truth. 
Warren  Hastings  was  not  so  much  a  great  Empire- 
builder  as  a  strong  man  with  an  iron  hand  who  had 
snatched  a  great  Empire  out  of  the  flames  of  anarchy. 
But  about  his  wife,  who  had  been  divorced  by  her 


215 


216 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


husband  when  Hastings  married  her,  there  may  be 
a  second  opinion ;  and  Colonel  Digby  said  un¬ 
reservedly  that  he  thought  it  a  pity  that  a  newspaper 
should  have  mentioned  her  name  in  the  same  para¬ 
graph  with  the  name  of  the  Queen. 

Fanny  Burney  said  nothing,  whatever  she  may  have 
thought,  but  her  Senior,  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  began 
to  abuse  Colonel  Digby  so  vehemently  in  her  broken 
English  for  daring  to  say  a  word  against  the  lady, 
that  Fanny  had  no  temptation  to  interpose  a  word. 
Later  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  told  her  that  she  meant 
to  force  him  to  produce  the  papers  on  which  he  had 
founded  an  opinion  adverse  to  Mrs.  Hastings  ;  and 
Fanny  made  up  her  mind  to  warn  him  of  this,  in  the 
interests  of  peace  and  quiet.  She  had  no  chance  of 
doing  so,  however,  before  Digby  had  to  leave 
Windsor  owing  to  the  serious  illness  of  his  wife,  who 
a  few  months  later  died  of  cancer. 

When  Fanny  next  saw  Colonel  Digby  he  had 
become  a  changed  man,  with  white  hair  and  a  forlorn 
expression  of  countenance.  His  conversation  corre¬ 
sponded  with  his  appearance.  It  was  very  cheerless  ; 
but  Miss  Burney,  with  the  appreciation  of  an  artist, 
perceived  how  well  the  dialogue  suited  the  situation, 
and  she  seemed  to  enjoy  her  own  appreciation  of  it ; 
though  she  felt  a  little  shocked  that  anyone  should 
become  so  despairing  as  to  hold,  as  this  gentleman 
said  he  did,  that  life  was  so  unsatisfying  a  thing 
that  one  might  be  pardoned  for  releasing  oneself 
from  its  burdens  but  for  the  “  canon  ’gainst  self¬ 
slaughter.” 


A  ROOMFUL  OF  COLONELS 


217 


He  was  never  a  very  cheerful  kind  of  person,  and 
his  conversation  was  usually  of  that  “improving”  type 
which  was  greatly  in  favour  a  hundred  years  ago, 
though  latterly  its  popularity  has  waned.  It  is  certain 
that  Fanny  liked  conversations  with  a  high  moral  tone 
— we  might  almost  say,  a  high-flown  moral  tone — and 
her  respect  for  Colonel  Digby  never  decreased  until, 
perhaps,  he  had  married  again.  It  was  from  him  she 
had  learned  within  the  first  few  days  of  their  meeting 
what  she  must  expect  from  her  colleague,  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg,  and  she  undoubtedly  found  the 
warning  useful. 

The  only  incident  with  some  humour  in  it  which 
is  related  in  connection  with  Colonel  Digby  had 
reference  to  the  gossip  that  was  flying  about  sug¬ 
gesting  that  Miss  Charlotte  Gunning,  a  Maid  of 
Honour,  was  about  to  console  this  worthy  widower, 
and  the  rumour  drew  to  the  ante-room  several  of  the 
Queen’s  ladies  who  had  daughters  fully  qualified  to 
discharge  the  duties  which  Miss  Gunning  would 
have  to  relinquish  on  her  marriage.  Fanny  was 
amused,  and  remarked  that  all  the  hopes  of  the 
aspirants  were  based  on  the  likelihood  of  the  death 
or  the  marriage  of  one  of  the  Maids  of  Honour ; 
but  none  of  them  seemed  disposed  to  oblige  their 
anxiously  waiting  friends. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  know  what  thoughts 
came  into  her  mind  one  evening  when  they  had, 
paradoxically,  a  chance  of  talking  together  in  quiet, 
the  room  being  so  crowded,  and  he  asked  her  what 
her  opinions  were  relative  to  second  marriages — if 


218 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


she  thought  any  second  attachment  could  either  be 
as  strong  or  as  happy  as  a  first. 

But  she  had  tact.  She  was  quite  unprepared  to 
answer  such  a  question,  as  she  did  not  know  with 
what  feelings  or  intentions  “  I  might  war  by  any  un¬ 
wary  opinion.  I  did  little  therefore  but  evade  and 
listen,  though  he  kept  up  the  discourse  in  a  very 
animated  manner  till  the  party  broke  up.” 

This  was  quite  discreet  on  the  part  of  Miss  Burney, 
for  Colonel  Digby  was  barely  ten  years  older  than 
herself.  But  whatever  thoughts  may  have  come  into 
her  mind  that  night  are  not  recorded ;  and  after 
all  Colonel  Digby  married  Miss  Gunning,  and  Fanny 
was  not  a  little  shocked  that  a  gentleman  of  so  highly 
religious  a  tone  should  consent  to  the  ceremony’s 
taking  place  in  a  drawing-room  and  not  in  a  church. 
The  account  that  she  got  of  this  wedding  was  ex¬ 
tremely  humorous.  The  bride’s  family  were  sitting 
about  the  drawing-room  as  usual  after  dinner,  the 
ladies  working  at  their  embroidery  or  knitting,  when 
the  clergyman  said  he  was  ready ;  but  never  before 
having  conducted  a  wedding  in  a  room,  he  scarcely 
knew  how  to  proceed.  They  managed,  however,  to 
get  a  table — the  clergyman  hoped  it  was  not  a  card 
table — to  take  the  place  of  an  altar,  the  ladies — 
doubtless  when  they  had  got  to  the  end  of  their 
“  row  ”  with  the  needles — put  away  their  work  and 
grouped  themselves  behind  the  bride,  who  smiled 
quite  pleasantly,  though  her  sister  went  into 
hysterics.  After  the  ceremony  the  happy  pair  drove 
away,  and  the  remainder  of  the  party  went  to  the 


A  ROOMFUL  OF  COLONELS 


219 


play-house,  where  “Much  Ado  About  Nothing” 
was  appropriately  performed,  showing  Benedick  a 
married  man. 

Miss  Burney  had  the  satisfaction  of  welcoming  Mrs. 
Digby  a  week  later,  but  she  had  no  more  long  senten¬ 
tious  conversations  with  the  excellent  Colonel,  though 
she  occasionally  met  him  in  the  ordinary  course  of 
her  duties.  During  the  months  that  preceded  his 
marriage,  however,  she  was,  as  will  be  seen  in  due 
course,  a  great  deal  in  his  company — quite  enough 
to  suggest  that  in  seeking  for  consolation  in  his 
morbid  moments  he  had  some  thought  of  appealing 
to  Miss  Burney  rather  than  to  the  lady  whom  he 
married. 

Another  of  the  King’s  equerries  she  names  “  Mr. 
Welbred.”  He  was  Colonel  Robert  Fulke  Greville, 
and  she  describes  him  as  gifted  with  a  figure  that 
was  “very  elegant,”  and  with  features  that  were 
“very  handsome.”  But,  better  than  these  outward 
qualities,  he  was  possessed  of  modesty,  good-breeding 
and  intelligence — for  an  equerry,  she  possibly  meant. 
That  tormenting  “Mr.  Turbulent”  was  pleased  to 
make  his  introduction  to  Fanny  the  groundwork 
of  one  of  his  innumerable  farces.  He  started  by 
demanding  of  her  to  know  when  she  was  going  to 
ask  Colonel  Greville  to  tea,  and  on  her  protesting 
that  she  had  not  the  honour  of  his  acquaintance,  he 
said  he  would  go  and  fetch  him  at  once  ;  when  she 
demurred,  he  insisted  on  her  telling  him  what 
objection  she  had  to  the  gentleman  ;  and  so  on,  day 
after  day  in  this  mischievous  spirit,  went  the  silly 


220 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


comedy  ;  and  it  turned  out  that  when  he  was  not 
teasing  Fanny  in  this  way,  he  was  annoying  the 
Colonel,  asking  him  how  it  was  he  had  not  presented 
himself  before  Miss  Burney  to  share  the  delights  of 
tea-drinking  in  her  room. 

Pages  of  the  Diary  are  devoted  to  the  introduc¬ 
tion  of  “  Mr.  Welbred,”  and  the  descriptions  of 
every  scene  are  as  admirable  as  the  introductory 
conversations  in  a  comedy  by  Augier  or  Sardou  ; 
the  only  difference  between  them  is  that  in  the 
comedy  they  lead  to  something,  but  in  the  Diary 
they  only  serve  to  make  a  reader  aware  of  the  paucity 
of  incidents  in  the  life  of  the  ante-room.  There  are 
plenty  of  Colonels,  but  neither  scandal  nor  intrigue. 
It  seems  a  dreadful  waste  of  good  material.  But 
that  is  only  because  we  think  of  Fanny  Burney  as  a 
writer  of  novels,  and  into  the  composition  of  novels 
of  reality  the  element  of  “good  taste”  (as  expounded 
by  Fanny  Burney)  is  not  expected  to  enter.  Her 
Colonels  in  the  Diary  might  be  the  falsetti  of  a 
Turkish  harem,  for  all  the  potentiality  of  intrigue 
there  is  in  them.  With  a  pretty  fair  knowledge  of 
the  machinery  of  the  Court  a  little  later,  however — 
when  Miss  Burney  was  living  in  retirement  with  a 
French  officer  for  her  husband — we  are  disposed  to 
think  that  during  her  years  in  the  ante-room  she 
found  her  defective  eyesight  a  very  good  excuse  for 
not  seeing  some  of  the  incidents  that  are  inevitable  in 
an  establishment  composed  of  some  young  women 
and  several  Colonels  of  very  elegant  figures. 

But  once  “  Mr.  Welbred  ”  justified  his  existence, 


A  ROOMFUL  OF  COLONELS 


221 


and  Miss  Burney  must  have  felt  grateful  to  her  “  Mr. 
Turbulent”  for  introducing  him  even  without  her 
consent ;  for  it  was  he  who  noticed  how  inconvenient 
it  was  for  her  to  have  a  bell-pull  only  in  her  bedroom 
and  none  in  her  sitting-room.  Fanny  had  applied 
to  one  of  the  domestic  surveyors  to  have  a  second 
bell-pull,  but  he  had  declared  that  it  would  be  as 
much  as  his  place  would  be  worth  to  make  so  radical 
a  change  unless  by  the  direct  orders  of  the  King. 
But  when  this  impetuous  Colonel  took  up  the 
business  he  carried  it  through  with  the  ardour  of  a 
Prince  Rupert,  and  Fanny  was  left  amazed  at  his 
daring — “  amazement  ”  is  actually  the  word  that 
she  uses. 

Her  confidence  in  his  resource  induced  her  to  beg 
of  him  to  try  to  devise  some  means  for  retaining  in 
the  Royal  Household  a  certain  Major  Price,  who  was 
retiring  from  his  post  on  the  ground  of  ill-health. 
But  the  Colonel  could  only  suggest  the  establishment 
of  the  office  of  Backgammon  Player  to  His  Majesty. 
(The  fame  of  Major  Price  at  the  backgammon  board 
had  travelled  through  the  length  and  breadth  of 
every  palace  in  the  kingdom.)  Major  Price,  how¬ 
ever,  was  not  retained,  and  greatly  to  Fanny’s  regret, 
returned  to  his  farm  in  Herefordshire  ;  but  he  did 
not  stamp  his  name  so  indelibly  upon  the  page  of 
history  as  to  give  anyone  ground  for  assuming  that 
he  placed  the  game  of  backgammon  on  a  more  stable 
basis  in  the  Border  Counties. 

“  Colonel  Welbred  ”  marches  through  the  pages 
of  the  Diary  for  some  time,  always  maintaining  his 


222 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


“elegant  figure”  and  intelligence;  and  on  one  occa¬ 
sion  he  rose  to  the  height  of  recounting  the  speech 
of  a  courtier  of  incomparable  adulation.  It  came 
from  “a  foreign  lady  of  distinction”  who  had  been 
walking  with  the  King  on  the  Terrace.  She  rejoiced 
in  the  fineness  of  the  day,  which  indeed  she  said 
“  was  so  perfect,  it  was  easy  to  see  who  had  ordered 
it !  ”  The  King  proved  himself  to  be  another  Canute, 
in  sense,  at  least,  for  he  turned  round  and  repeated 
the  words  to  his  equerries. 

The  evening  that  was  marked  by  the  telling  of  this 
story  was  made  notable  by  many  incidents.  The 
King  sent  for  Colonel  Ramsden,  who  was  in  the  tea¬ 
room,  to  play  backgammon  with  him,  and  Colonel 
Goldsworthy,  laughing  at  the  other  being  interrupted 
at  his  dish  of  tea,  cried  “  Happy,  happy  man!”  and 
was  complacently  settling  himself  down  to  a  comfort¬ 
able  meal  when  the  Royal  summons  came  for  him  also. 
“  What,  already  !  ”  he  cried,  “  without  even  my  tea  ! 
Why,  this  is  worse  and  worse ! — No  peace  in  Israel !  ” 

“  Off  he  went,”  continues  the  Diary ;  “  but 

presently,  in  a  great  rage,  came  back,  and  while  he 
drank  a  hot  dish  of  tea  which  I  instantly  presented 
him,  kept  railing  at  his  stars  for  ever  bringing  him 
under  a  Royal  roof.  ‘  If  it  had  not  been  for  a  puppy,’ 
cried  he,  ‘  I  had  never  got  off  even  to  scald  my 
throat  in  this  manner!  But  they’ve  just  got  a  dear 
little  new  ugly  dog ;  so  one  puppy  gave  way  to 
t’other,  and  I  just  left  them  to  kiss  and  hug  it  while  I 
stole  off  to  drink  this  tea !  But  this  is  too  much  ! 
— no  peace  in  Israel  !  ’  ” 


A  ROOMFUL  OF  COLONELS 


223 


Then  the  conversation  turned  upon  Herschel  and 
his  discovery  of  volcanoes  in  the  moon.  It  must  ever 
be  a  source  of  regret  that  the  astronomer  published 
the  result  of  his  observations  and  investigations  of 
the  satellite,  for  it  shattered  the  confidence  that  had 
been  placed  in  him  up  to  this  point  by  one  Colonel 
Manners,  “  a  tall  and  extremely  handsome  young 
man,”  who  was  among  the  equerries.  “  As  to 
Herschel,”  he  cried,  “  I  liked  him  well  enough  till 
he  came  to  his  volcanoes  in  the  moon  ;  and  then 
I  gave  him  up  :  I  saw  that  he  was  just  like  the 
rest.  How  should  he  know  anything  of  the  matter  ? 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  pretending  to  measure  at 
such  a  distance  as  that.” 

Every  one  seemed  to  perceive  how  regrettable  it 
was  that  Herschel  should  have  forfeited  the  goodwill 
of  Colonel  Manners ;  but  a  little  later  “  Colonel 
Welbred  ”  remarked  that  the  wisest  and  best  of 
people  were  little  appreciated  by  their  contemporaries, 
adding  that  he  did  not  doubt  that  Herschel  would 
one  day  be  as  highly  honoured  as  Newton.  “  Colonel 
Welbred”  was  undoubtedly  a  philosopher,  if  his 
colleague  seems  the  more  amusing  in  Miss  Burney’s 
accounts  of  the  scientific  dialogues  of  the  ante-room. 
The  very  mention  of  the  word  “  volcano  ”  caused  one 
of  Manners’s  eruptions,  so  that  somebody  took  good 
care  to  introduce  the  topic  upon  every  possible 
occasion  for  the  sake  of  the  excitement.  It  must 
have  been  amusing  to  hear  this  self-satisfied  young 
officer  proclaim  Herschel  and  De  Luc  and  “  the  rest 
of  them”  a  pack  of  charlatans.  The  moment  any  of 


224 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


them  chanced  to  see  a  bonfire  on  the  top  of  a  hill 
they  took  it  for  a  volcano,  he  affirmed. 

It  is  plain  that  Manners  had  a  pretty  conceit  of 
himself,  for  he  inquired  if  Miss  Burney  had  heard 
him  sing  in  church.  It  had  escaped  her  attention, 
she  said ;  and  he  forthwith  asked  Goldsworthy  for 
a  candid  criticism  of  his  rendering  of  a  Psalm  (which 
he  took  to  be  a  hymn). 

Goldsworthy  replied  that  he  did  it  pretty  well, 
adding,  “  Now  and  again  you  run  me  a  little  into 
‘  God  save  the  King.’  ”  And  the  other,  after  some 
reflection,  said  that  that  was  probably  because  he 
knew  “  God  save  the  King  ”  better  than  any  other 
tune. 

“  A  happy  mistake  to  make  so  near  their 
Majesties,”  remarked  Fanny. 

Very  little  encouragement  made  this  egregious 
gentleman  give  the  company  an  example  of  his 
vocalism.  He  attempted  an  anthem,  but  did 
it  so  horribly  that  every  one  was  roaring  with 
laughter.  A  lady  had,  however,  only  to  ask 
him  for  another,  and  he  forthwith  launched  into 
“  Care,  thou  bane  of  love  and  joy  ”  with  such 
“shocking  discordant  and  unmeaning  sounds,  that 
nothing  in  a  farce  could  be  more  risible  ;  in  defiance, 
however,  of  all  interruptions,  he  continued  till  he 
had  finished  one  stanza,  when  Colonel  Goldsworthy 
called  out :  ‘  There — there’s  enough  ! — have  mercy  ! 
Thank  you — but  I  won’t  trouble  you  for  more — I’ll 
not  hear  another  word.’  ” 

Then  “  Colonel  Welbred  ”  pretended  to  give  this 


A  ROOMFUL  OF  COLONELS 


225 


simpleton  instructions  for  executing  a  shake — “  a 
shake  with  the  voice,  such  as  singers  make,”  it  was 
explained  to  him  ;  and  before  the  lesson  was  over 
the  audience  was  “nearly  demolished.” 

Among  all  this  group  of  gentlemen  in  livery 
Greville  is  the  one  of  whom  she  writes  in  admiration. 
But  she  is  so  frank  in  her  references  to  him  that  no 
one  could  scarcely  suggest  that  she  had  any  tender 
feeling  for  him.  This,  at  any  rate,  was  what  was 
in  her  mind  ;  for  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that 
this  part  of  the  Diary  was  not  addressed  to  the 
“  Nobody  ”  for  whom  her  earlier  journals  were 
meant ;  it  was  written  with  a  view  of  being  read 
by  her  father  and  sisters  ;  so,  frank  though  she 
undoubtedly  was,  it  would  be  absurd  to  believe  that 
she  was  unreservedly  frank  :  there  are  limits  to  the 
confidences  of  every  sensible  woman,  and  thus  we 
should  not  like  to  do  her  the  injustice  to  take  it  for 
granted  that  even  during  her  residence  among  the 
people  who  are  only  made  interesting  by  reason  of 
her  literary  treatment  of  them,  she  had  no  moment 
of  tender  thought  for  one  of  the  men.  She  had  no 
doubt  been  cautioned  by  her  father,  by  Mrs.  Delany, 
by  the  Lockes,  and  perhaps  by  the  Queen  herself, 
upon  the  necessity  for  discretion  at  all  times,  but 
especially  when  throwm  among  the  equerries.  She 
had  probably  been  told  that  these  gentlemen  had 
been  so  accustomed  to  find  themselves  face  to  face 
only  with  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  and  Mrs.  Haggerdorn, 
that  they  might  become  demoralised  by  the  appear¬ 
ance  of  some  one  who  was  younger  and  better 

16 


226 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


favoured,  so  that  it  would  be  absolutely  necessary 
for  her  to  be  always  on  her  guard. 

And  she  was  certainly  a  pattern  of  discretion  ; 
but  every  one  knows,  without  having  given  more 
time  to  the  study  of  volcanic  impulses  than  did 
Colonel  Manners,  that  a  crater  which  is  thought  to 
be  extinct  may  now  and  again  break  forth  into  flame, 
and  even  a  woman  of  thirty-six,  with  a  reputation 
for  discretion  to  preserve  untarnished,  may  prove 
herself  to  be  very  much  alive  indeed.  Only  some 
one  who  meant  to  be  very  hard  upon  Fanny  Burney 
would  venture  to  assert  that  because  she  gives  no 
hint  of  it  in  her  Diary,  she  had  therefore  no  dream  of 
being  able  to  console  her  “Mr.  Fairly  ”  for  the  loss  of 
his  first  wife,  or  some  hope  that  her  “  Mr.  Welbred  ” 
might  think  of  her  unofficially  when  his  term 
of  waiting  had  ended.  We  suspect  such  possibilities 
by  reason  of  the  very  frankness  with  which  she 
writes  of  them — disarming  frankness,  she  meant  it  to 
be.  She  laughs  when  she  is  telling  how  she  referred 
to  one  of  them  as  her  beau — “Mr.  Turbulent”  has 
just  been  saying  that  he  was  the  man  for  a  belle, 
alluding  in  an  obvious  pun  to  his  good  service  done 
on  her  behalf — and  she  gives  a  little  simper,  we  think, 
when  she  tells  of  the  badinage  of  the  same  annoying 
person  in  coupling  her  name  with  Greville’s. 

Now  it  would  be  as  ridiculous  to  assert  that  these 
trifles  would  bear  to  be  considered  as  any  evidence 
that  an  attachment  existed  between  her  and  the  man  as 
it  would  be  to  say  that  they  prove  conclusively  that 
such  a  possibility  had  never  suggested  itself  to  her. 


A  ROOMFUL  OF  COLONELS 


227 


It  is  not  going  far  in  defining  her  position  to  say 
that  she  was  now  and  again  on  the  brink  of  an 
attachment — all  women  are  on  the  brink  every  day 
of  their  life — but  more  it  would  be  impossible  to  say 
of  Fanny  Burney  in  respect  of  her  associates  in  the 
King’s  livery.  She  did  not  fall  in  love  with  any  of 
them  ;  but  she  proved  some  years  later  that  she  was 
woman  enough  to  cast  discretion  to  the  winds  when 
a  man  told  her  he  loved  her.  He  was  penniless,  a 
foreigner,  and  a  Catholic,  and  she  was  forty-one  years 
of  age ;  but  she  was  ready  with  the  ardour  of  a  girl 
to  throw  herself  into  his  arms  without  having  ob¬ 
tained  the  consent  of  her  father  ;  and  it  appears 
to  us  that  the  woman  who  could  act  thus  at  forty- 
one  could  not  at  thirty-six  have  looked  on  colonels 
with  “  elegant  figures,”  displayed  to  great  advantage 
in  the  Royal  livery,  with  no  warmer  feelings  than 
would  have  been  hers  if  they  had  been  carved  out 
of  marble. 

That  is  the  nearest  approach  to  the  fashioning  of 
a  love  story  for  Fanny  Burney  that  one  can  legiti¬ 
mately  make  from  studying  the  pages  of  her  Diary 
during  the  five  years  of  her  service  with  the  Queen. 

But  what  we  should  greatly  like  to  possess  to-day 
is  the  diary  of  some  one  who  had  access  to  the 
equerries’  room  during  the  same  period.  We  are 
certain  that  the  comments  of  these  gentlemen  upon 
the  Junior  Robe-keeper  would  form  very  entertaining 
reading.  We  do  not  think  that  the  members  of  the 
Royal  staff  ever  quite  recovered  from  the  astonishment 
they  felt  when  they  found  her  installed  as  the  col¬ 
league  of  Schwellenberg,  vice  Haggerdorn,  resigned. 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  PALACE 


CHAPTER  XVI 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  PALACE. 

THE  particular  evening  on  which  something 
approaching  merriment  prevailed  in  the  tea¬ 
room,  when  the  artless  young  gentleman  with  the 
title  of  Colonel  was  fooled  to  the  top  of  his  bent  by 
the  accomplished  “Welbred,”  was  recognised  by  all 
who  were  present  as  a  sort  of  Colonels’  Carnival : 
they  knew  that  they  were  taking  their  farewell  of 
gaiety,  for  their  long  penance  was  to  begin  the  next 
day.  “Were  we  not  right  to  laugh  while  we  were 
able?”  wrote  Fanny.  “The  next  day — to  dinner — 
arrived  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.” 

Apologists  for  this  Elizabeth  Juliana  Schwellenberg 
have  not  been  wanting  during  the  past  half  century, 
but  they  have  never  succeeded  in  doing  more  for 
her  than  an  ordinary  master  of  cosmetics  could 
do  for  a  full-blooded  negress.  They  have  contrived 
to  put  a  streak  or  two  of  greasy  whitewash  upon 
her,  but  no  more.  We  have  already  mentioned 
that  one  of  the  Royal  Dukes  expressed  the  opinion 
on  the  appearance  of  the  Diary  that  Fanny  Burney 
had  been  too  hard  on  her.  He  knew  less  about  this 
than  did  his  father.  The  King  showed  more  than 
once  that  he  had  a  pretty  accurate  knowledge  of  the 

231 


232 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


character  of  the  woman  who  made  life  a  burthen  to 
every  one — the  Queen  only  excepted — with  whom 
she  came  in  contact.  Her  nature  and  her  character 
were  but  too  well  known  to  all  the  Court.  It  has 
been  urged  on  her  behalf  that  she  was  a  devoted 
servant  of  the  Queen — that  she  was  aged— that  she 
suffered  from  wretched  health,  that  her  position  was 
a  trying  one.  These  pleas  all  represent  streaks  of 
whitewash  on  a  negress.  A  touch  of  a  sponge 
removes  them  and  we  see  her  as  she  was — black 
throughout. 

Fanny  Burney  had  heard  of  her  before  entering 
the  service  of  the  Queen,  but  Mrs.  Delany  was 
not  in  a  position  to  know  much  about  her,  and 
Mr.  Smelt  believed  with  all  his  heart  that  the  honour 
of  being  permitted  to  hand  the  Queen  her  fan  more 
than  counterbalanced  all  that  one  could  suffer  at  the 
hands  of  such  a  “coadjutrix”  as  this  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg.  It  was  only  when  she  came  in  contact  with 
the  woman  and  found  how  she  was  regarded  by  the 
rest  of  the  entourage,  that  she  began  to  perceive  what 
kind  of  person  was  this  with  whom  she  was  expected 
to  associate,  not  quite  on  equal  terms,  but  as  an 
apprentice  with  a  foreman. 

She  began  to  suffer  from  the  vile  temper,  the 
vulgarity,  and  the  brutality  of  the  woman  within 
the  first  few  weeks  of  her  arrival  at  Windsor.  One 
can  see  that  she  refrained  at  first  from  uttering  so 
bitter  a  complaint  as  she  might  have  done ;  but  soon 
she  found  it  impossible  to  restrain  herself :  we  put 
it  that  she  was  too  conscientious  an  artist  to  be  able 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  PALACE  233 

to  restrain  herself ;  but  then,  artist-like,  she  refrained 
from  comments :  she  felt  that  an  ordinary  record 
of  the  sayings  and  behaviour  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
was  adequate  for  the  relief  of  her  feelings  :  that  is 
to  say,  she  was  content  to  delineate  her  character 
from  an  impersonal  point  of  view.  She  did  not  moan 
over  her  own  sufferings  through  contact  with  the 
woman,  but  it  would  be  impossible  to  read  these 
pages  of  her  Diary  without  becoming  aware  of  how 
acute  her  sufferings  were.  Toward  the  end  she 
became  so  inured  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  and  her 
ways  that — artist-like  again — she  was  able  to  refer 
to  her  as  she  might  to  a  part  in  a  comedy — the  part 
of  the  virago.  It  would  be  difficult  for  any  intelligent 
person  to  study  the  Diary  with  any  measure  of  care 
without  perceiving  that  Fanny  Burney,  so  far  from 
being  too  hard  on  the  Schwellenberg,  exercised  great 
self-restraint  in  her  references  to  her,  hardly  ever 
making  use  of  an  expression  qualifying  her  vanity, 
her  captiousness,  or  her  cruelty :  when  she  refers 
to  her  as  Cerbera,  she  feels  that  she  has  gone  far 
enough.  It  is  on  account  of  the  restraint  that  she 
shows  in  this  direction  that  we  feel  our  greatest 
admiration  for  Fanny  Burney. 

The  situation  was  from  the  first  an  impossible  one, 
and  how  it  was  maintained  for  so  long  would  be  a 
mystery,  had  we  not  plenty  of  evidence  of  the 
prudence,  the  patience,  and  the  tact  of  Miss  Burney, 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg  had  come  from  Mecklenburg  with 
Queen  Charlotte — for  how  long  before  that  date  she 
had  been  attached  to  her  person  we  are  unable  to 


234 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


say ;  but  we  know  that  Mrs.  Haggerdorn,  whose 
place  Fanny  Burney  took,  was  for  twenty-six  years 
in  the  Queen’s  service  before  her  retirement.  Here 
then  are  two  typical  German  women,  both  grown 
old  in  the  service  of  the  Queen,  and  when  one  of 
them  is  compelled  to  retire  through  inability  to  dis¬ 
charge  the  duties  which  must  have  become  as  second 
nature  to  her,  a  much  younger  woman,  who  is  as 
thoroughly  English  as  the  others  are  German,  is 
engaged  to  take  her  place. 

Now,  quite  apart  from  any  consideration  of  the 
position  in  English  society  of  the  newcomer,  or  of 
her  European  fame  as  a  writer,  what  chance,  we 
would  ask,  had  she  of  meeting  with  a  favourable 
reception  at  the  hands  of  an  old  woman  whose 
reputation  is  not  for  erring  on  the  side  of  courtesy 
toward  strangers  ?  We  can  easily  picture  the  Queen’s 
dressing-room,  with  Charlotte  of  Mecklenburg  seated 
in  her  chair  in  the  centre,  and  Haggerdorn  of 
Mecklenburg  with  her  ailments  on  one  side,  and 
Schwellenberg  of  Mecklenburg  with  her  complaints 
on  the  other — fitting  supporters  for  the  central  figure. 
Not  a  word  of  English  is  heard  in  the  room.  The 
conversation  is  bound  to  be  on  some  trivial  topic, 
for  we  are  assured  that  each  of  the  supporters  of 
Royalty  is  as  illiterate  as  the  other ;  but  there  is 
plenty  to  discuss  without  travelling  beyond  the 
equerries’  room  or  the  governesses’  room — there 
is  gossip  and  there  are  comments  upon  the  day’s 
doings.  Many  a  delightful  half  hour  must  have 
been  spent  by  the  three  in  this  apartment. 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  PALACE 


235 


And  then  suddenly  an  outsider  is  asked,  not  to 
make  up  a  quartette,  but  to  take  the  place  of  one 
of  the  trio !  How  was  it  possible  that  she  should 
not  be  looked  on  as  an  intruder? 

We  cannot  understand  for  what  reason  the  Queen 
chose  a  person  so  unlike  Mrs.  Haggerdorn  to  take 
that  lady’s  place,  unless  we  consider  the  possibility 
of  Her  Majesty’s  having  become  wearied  to  death 
of  seeing  how  rapidly  the  two  women  beside  her 
were  ageing — disagreeable  reminders  of  the  flight 
of  time  and  the  fate  of  princes  as  well  as  of  tire¬ 
women  and  toadies — and  of  her  desire  to  have  near 
her  some  one  whose  company  would  not  be  so 
depressing.  But  we  have  already  given  it  as  our 
opinion  that  the  Queen  did  not  really  mean  that 
Fanny  should  continue  to  be  her  Robe-keeper, 
merely  giving  her  the  appointment  to  enable  her 
(the  Queen)  to  find  out  for  what  position  she  was 
better  suited. 

But  why  should  this  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  who  was 
in  such  close  contact  with  the  Queen  at  all  times 
that  her  influence  was  acknowledged  to  be  very  great, 
make  no  protest  against  the  coming  of  a  younger 
woman,  possessing  a  disqualification  so  obvious  as 
that  of  being  an  Englishwoman,  and  being,  besides, 
wholly  without  experience  of  the  duties  of  her  post  ? 
It  might  surely  be  thought  that  a  word  from  her  in 
the  Queen’s  ear  would  be  sufficient  to  cause  Her 
Majesty  to  abandon  her  project  in  regard  to  Miss 
Burney. 

Certainly  Mrs.  Schwellenberg’s  acquiescence  in  this 


236 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


matter  seems  at  first  sight  to  be  rather  strange.  But 
we  very  quickly  come  to  perceive  what  was  in  her 
mind  to  induce  her  to  submit  to  the  appointment. 
The  truth  is  that  she  fancied  she  saw  a  chance 
of  obtaining  for  herself  a  companion  who,  knowing 
nothing  of  Courts  and  Court  ways,  would  submit 
to  her  rule  more  easily  than  an  elder  woman  and  a 
woman  of  experience  might  be  expected  to  do. 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg  felt  herself  growing  old,  and 
with  increasing  infirmities  she  became  aware  of 
her  need  for  the  company  of  some  one  younger  and 
perhaps  more  plastic  than  the  Haggerdorn — some  one 
who  would  devote  all  her  time  to  looking  after  her 
and  her  comforts — some  one,  in  short,  who  would  act 
as  a  superior  personal  attendant  upon  herself. 

Fanny  Burney  had  no  trouble  in  perceiving  this 
before  she  had  been  many  days  at  Windsor,  and 
she  resolved  in  her  mind  that  the  good  woman  should 
be  informed  of  the  mistake  she  made  in  fancying 
that  the  newcomer  would  submit  to  be  dominated 
by  such  a  person  as  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.  Her 
resolution  was  to  this  effect,  but  she  never  quite 
succeeded  in  carrying  it  out.  It  was,  however, 
the  constant  succession  of  her  attempts  to  make 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg  acquainted  with  her  resolve 
that  produced  the  friction  between  them.  The 
more  that  Miss  Burney  tried  to  show  her  indepen¬ 
dence,  the  more  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  tyrannised 
over  her  ;  and  it  certainly  appears  to  us  that  the 
elder  lady’s  success  was  more  conspicuous  than  that 
of  the  younger.  Fanny  Burney  submitted  on  all 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  PALACE 


237 


material  points  in  a  way  that  she  could  never  have 
thought  it  possible  she  should  when  she  made  her 
original  resolution.  She  was  imposed  upon  by  the 
old  woman  almost  daily,  not  quite  so  completely 
as  the  old  woman  would  have  liked,  but  still  suffi¬ 
ciently  to  cause  her  life  to  be  a  burthen  to  her.  For 
that  matter,  the  old  woman  made  the  lives  of  all  the 
other  people  with  whom  she  came  in  contact  a  burthen 
to  them  as  well,  but  this  was  only  incidentally ;  it 
was  open  for  any  of  them  to  avoid  seeing  her  at 
any  time  ;  but  Fanny  Burney  had  no  chance  of  an 
escape  by  flight,  and  she  could  only  avoid  her  Cerbera 
by  stratagems  that  caused  great  inconvenience  to 
herself.  She  never  succeeded  in  achieving  the 
freedom  which  she  had  resolved  to  obtain  for  herself, 
and  by  way  of  a  sop  to  Cerbera  she  gave  her  far 
more  attention  than  she  meant  her  to  have. 

In  one  place  she  mentions  that  Miss  Planta  had 
told  her  of  hearing  from  Mr.  Guiffardiere  how  he 
had  by  chance  seen  her  when  tete-a-tete  with  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg,  and  that  the  expression  which  he 
had  observed  upon  her  face  gave  him  great  concern. 
This  accident  was,  Fanny  states,  vexatious,  for  she 
had  always  tried  to  make  it  appear  that  she  got  on 
well  enough  with  Mrs.  Schwellenberg;  she  tried  to 
pass  off  the  revelation  as  gaily  as  was  possible,  but 
he  was  not  deceived.  It  was  in  a  tone  of  the  most 
compassionate  regret  that  he  exclaimed :  “  This, 

ma’am,  is  your  colleague ! — Who  could  ever  have 
imagined  it  would  have  been  Miss  Burney’s  fate 
to  be  so  coupled  ?  Could  you  ever,  ma’am,  foresee 


238 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


or  suspect  or  believe  that  you  should  be  linked  to 
such  a  companion  ?  ” 

It  was  made  plain  to  her  upon  this  occasion,  as 
indeed  it  was  upon  many  other  occasions,  that  she 
had  the  hearty  sympathy  of  every  one  who  knew 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg ;  but  in  order  to  make  them 
think  that  she  did  not  mind  the  woman’s  overbearing 
ways  very  much,  she  told  them  a  number  of  droll 
stories  of  her  treatment  of  some  of  her  domestics, 
at  which  they  were  in  fits  of  laughter,  and  so  Mr. 
Guiffardiere’s  compassion  was  divested  of  something 
of  its  gloom.  But  the  fact  of  her  being  able  to  tell 
these  stories  helps  us  materially  to  understand  the 
petty  irritations  to  which  she  was  subjected  at  the 
hands  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg. 

In  one  of  Croker’s  notes  he  mentions  how  it  was 
stated  that  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  was  so  imperious 
that  she  was  far  better  served  than  the  Queen 
herself.  Much  in  the  Diary  itself  makes  this  state¬ 
ment  quite  plausible.  That  devotion  to  her  Royal 
mistress  which  has  more  than  once  been  placed 
to  her  credit  by  her  whitewashers,  assumes  a  some¬ 
what  different  complexion  when  we  learn  that  she 
did  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  make  the  newcomer 
acquainted  with  her  duties  or  with  the  etiquette 
of  the  Royal  Establishment.  She  left  it  for  Fanny 
to  find  out  everything  for  herself.  It  is  scarcely 
surprising  that,  in  these  circumstances,  the  latter 
was  perpetually  making  mistakes.  One  of  the  least 
of  these  was  her  opening  the  door  of  the  dining¬ 
room  after  coffee  had  been  served  upstairs — a  thing 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  PALACE 


239 


that  should  never  have  been  done  by  her  at  that 
time.  “These  were  things  I  had  no  one  to  tell  me; 

I  was  left  to  find  them  out  as  I  could,”  she  complains. 
Again,  it  was  from  the  Princess  Royal  that  she  had 
to  learn  that,  on  returning  to  Windsor  after  a  Court 
day  at  St.  James’s,  the  Queen’s  jewel-box  should 
be  taken  at  once  to  her  bedroom.  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg  had  not  so  much  as  hinted  to  her  that  this 
was  de  rigueur ,  so  that  when  Miss  Burney  was  alone 
in  attendance  upon  Her  Majesty,  she  would  have 
allowed  the  box  to  remain  where  it  had  been  de¬ 
posited  had  it  not  been  for  the  thoughtfulness  of 
the  Princess. 

Almost  from  the  first  her  Cerbera  set  about 
snubbing  her.  Within  the  first  few  weeks  after  her 
coming  to  Windsor  she  called  out  in  a  commanding 
way  in  the  Queen’s  dressing-room  for  Fanny  to 
come  to  her  when  she  had  finished^with  Her  Majesty. 
Fanny  did  not  like  the  tone,  but  of  course  she  could 
not  resent  it  at  the  moment.  When  she  found 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg  later,  that  person  endeavoured 
to  impress  her  with  a  sense  of  the  favour  that  was 
being  done  to  her  and  of  the  value  of  the  Schwellen¬ 
berg  patronage,  all  this  leading  up  to  the 
announcement  that  she  was  to  go  to  Oxford  with 
the  Queen  and  be  given  a  gown  for  the  occasion. 

Now  Fanny  was  not  sufficiently  accustomed  to 
that  form  of  patronage  which  would  be  accounted 
an  impertinence  were  it  shown  by  an  ordinary  person, 
but  which,  coming  from  a  Queen,  is  an  act  of  gracious 
condescension ;  and  she  records  that  she  stared 


240 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


and  drew  back  with  a  look  so  undisguised  of  wonder 
and  displeasure  that  even  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  could 
not  fail  to  comprehend  its  import.  But  the  latter 
was  not  to  be  cowed. 

“  Miss  Bernar,”  cried  she  quite  angrily,  “  I  tell 
you  once  when  the  Queen  will  give  you  a  gown 
you  must  be  humble  thankful  when  you  are  Duchess 
of  Ancaster  ”  (Mistress  of  the  Robes). 

And  yet  in  spite  of  this  snub,  Fanny  Burney, 
although  she  hated  cards,  learned  to  play  in  order 
to  humour  the  dragon. 

But  many  another  indignity  had  she  to  suffer  at 
the  hands  of  the  same  person.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
seemed  to  delight  in  belittling  her  who  had  been 
praised  by  the  greatest  people  in  England.  When 
Fanny  was  going  with  the  suite  to  Nuneham  Courtney, 
Lord  Harcourt’s  place,  she  remarked  that  she  had 
been  presented  to  his  lordship  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
some  years  before,  and  that  she  had  met  him  since. 
That  mattered  nothing,  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  said  ; 
it  should  ever  be  Fanny’s  business  to  efface  herself. 
“  There  is  no  need  you  might  be  seen.  I  shall  do 
everything  I  can  to  assist  you  to  appear  for  nobody,” 
she  cried  ;  and  this  was  her  daily  aim  so  long  as 
she  was  near  Fanny.  She  was  perpetually  sneering 
at  her,  especially  when  there  were  people  present 
whom  she  wished  to  set  right  as  to  the  relative 
standing  of  herself  and  her  “  Miss  Bernar.” 

For  instance,  there  appeared  in  the  room  one  day 
a  young  clergyman  named  Griffith — he  may  have 
been  a  Welshman — who  had  heard  that  Mrs. 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  PALACE 


241 


Schwellenberg’s  favour  should  be  secured  if  he  wanted 
preferment.  But  she  was  too  conscientious  to  promise 
to  say  a  word  in  his  favour  until  she  had  judged  of  his 
capacity.  She  commanded  him  to  read  something  for 
her,  but  at  the  suggestion  of  a  novel  she  flared  up. 
Never  would  such  trash  as  a  novel  be  read  in  her 
presence,  she  averred,  and  forthwith  put  a  volume  of 
J osephus  into  his  hand.  We  should  like  to  learn  if,  after 
this  exercise  of  his  powers  through  so  unusual  a  medium 
for  the  display  of  elocution,  the  young  man  won  the 
approval  of  his  subtle  critic  of  English  pronunciation. 

We  know  what  the  reputation  of  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg  must  have  been  when  we  hear  how  the  good- 
natured  people  in  the  tea-room  thought  it  advisable 
to  make  it  up  among  themselves  not  to  pay  any 
attention  to  Miss  Burney  lest  they  should  arouse  the 
never  very  dormant  jealousy  of  her  Senior.  She  was, 
in  fact,  the  terror  of  the  whole  Court. 

Upon  one  occasion  Miss  Planta,  the  Princesses’ 
teacher  and  companion,  exclaimed  : 

“  Oh,  if  she  were  not  so  cross,  how  happy  we  might 
all  live !  ” 

And  again  she  begged  Mr.  Guiffardiere,  who 
was  going  up  to  town  from  Windsor  and  might 
possibly  see  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  —  she  had  been 
detained  in  town  by  illness — 

“  Now,  for  Heaven’s  sake,  don’t  you  begin  talking 
to  her  of  how  comfortable  we  are  here  ! — it  will  bring 
her  back  directly.” 

A  more  universally  detested  person  than  this 
colleague  of  Miss  Burney  could  not  be  imagined. 

17 


242 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


But  knowing  that  she  had  come  with  the  Queen  from 
Mecklenberg  and  that  she  had  the  Queens  ear,  many 
members  of  the  Royal  entourage  were  ready  to  do 
their  best  to  keep  on  friendly  terms"  with  her.  She 
had  for  pets  some  toads — most  fitting  attaches  to  a 
Court  since  the  days  when  the  excuse  for  their 
existence  as  tests  of  loyalty  was  thought  justifiable. 
Mr.  de  Luc,  the  geologist  and  one  of  the  numerous 
staff  of  Readers,  showed  how  anxious  he  was  to  get 

o 

into  her  good  graces  by  spending  all  his  spare  time 
catching  flies  for  the  toads  :  he  would  probably  have 
eaten  them  if  she  had  so  desired  it,  in  accordance 
with  the  traditions  of  the  accommodating  courtier. 

Once  this  old  gentleman  thought  ^  fit  to  lecture 
Fanny  for  her  not  paying  sufficient  attention  to  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg.  He  thought  that  she  should  have 
spent  more  time  with  her.  But  this  was  too  much 
for  Fanny,  and  she  immediately  said  that  she  had 
spent  more  time  with  her  than  she  had  ever  meant 
to  spend.  He  was  extremely  surprised  at  this,  and 
ventured  to  hint  that  she  should  be  more  guarded 
and  attend  better  to  her  own  interest,  which 
depended  so  largely  upon  the  good-will  of  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg. 

“  I  could  not  stand  this,”  wrote  Fanny  ;  “  I  assured 
him,  with  spirit  and  with  truth,  I  had  no  interest  in 
the  matter.  I  had  not  sought  the  situation  in  which 
I  had  been  placed  :  I  owed  nothing  to  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  but  such  civility  as  her  civility  might 
claim ;  and  far  from  trembling  at  her  power,  I 
considered  myself  wholly  out  of  it.  ...  I  could  by 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  PALACE 


243 


no  means  consent  to  sacrifice  the  little  leisure  I  might 
call  my  own  to  dedicate  it  where  I  could  so  little 
regard  it  as  due.” 

She  left  the  poor  old  narrow-minded  gentleman 
amazed  at  her  independence. 

He  was  most  assiduous  in  his  attentions  to  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  and  her  pets,  who  belonged  to  the 
some  order  of  beings  as  herself ;  but  even  Mr.  de 
Luc  could  not  avoid  going  against  his  patron  upon 
one  occasion.  They  were  in  her  coach  on  the  way 
to  London.  The  day  was  a  frosty  one  and  Fanny’s 
eyes  were  greatly  inflamed  through  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg’s  insisting  on  the  windows  being  kept  open. 
When  Mr.  de  Luc,  greatly  daring,  closed  one  of 
them,  she  shrieked  out : 

“  Put  down  that  glass  !  ” 

Affecting  not  to  hear  the  order,  he  went  on 
conversing,  and  this  so  enraged  her  that  she  shouted 
out  in  the  manner  and  the  spirit  of  the  vulgar  virago 
for  her  order  to  be  obeyed.  When  he  tried  to  explain 
that  it  was  on  account  of  poor  Miss  Burney’s  inflamed 
eyes  he  had  shut  the  window,  she  only  became  the 
louder  and  the  more  insistent.  “  Put  it  down,”  she 
cried ;  “  without,  I  will  get  out  ;  put  it  down  when 
I  tell  you,  it  is  my  coach.  I  will  have  it.  I  might 
go  alone  in  it  or  with  one,  or  with  what  you  call 
nobody,  when  I  please !  ” 

Doubtless  she  had  defined  the  conditions  of  her 
travelling  which  would  have  been  most  pleasing  to  her 
unfortunate  companions  ;  but  in  the  existing  circum¬ 
stances  nothing  remained  for  them  but  to  submit 


244 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


to  her  tyranny.  The  window  was  let  down  and 
Fanny  did  her  best  to  keep  off  the  bitter  wind  by 
holding  her  muff  up  to  her  face. 

“What  a  journey  ensued!”  she  wrote.  “To  see 
that  face  lighted  up  with  fury  is  a  sight  for  horror ! 
I  was  glad  to  exclude  it  by  my  muff.  ...  Not  a 
word,  not  an  apology,  not  one  expression  of  being 
sorry  at  what  I  suffered,  was  uttered.  The  most 
horrible  ill-humour,  violence,  and  rudeness  were  all 
that  were  shown.” 

Another  scene  took  place  when  a  stop  was  made 
to  water  the  horses  and  Mr.  de  Luc  again  pulled 
up  the  glass.  “  A  voice  of  fury  exclaimed,  ‘  Let  it 
down  !  Without,  I  won’t  go.’  ” 

At  a  word  from  Fanny,  not  of  remonstrance,  but 
explanation,  the  monster  yelled  again  : 

“You  might  bear  it  when  you  like  it !  What  did 
the  poor  Haggerdorn  bear  it!  When  the  blood  was 
all  running  down  from  her  eyes.” 

Fanny  learned  that  it  was  indeed  through  travelling 
in  the  coach  with  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  that  “  the  poor 
Haggerdorn  ”  became  all  but  blind. 

Why  the  Queen  should  have  subjected  any  one 
to  the  inhuman  tyranny  of  this  hag  remains  a 
mystery.  That  she  did  so  compels  us  to  reduce 
by  an  adjective  or  two  Fanny’s  constant  references 
to  “the  sweet  Queen,”  “the  dear  Queen,”  “the 
considerate  Queen,”  and  to  feel  that  there  may 
after  all  be  some  ground  for  the  opinion  of  other 
writers  who  have  suggested  that  Queen  Charlotte 
was  not  always  so  sympathetic  or  considerate  as  Miss 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  PALACE 


245 


Burney  tried  to  make  her  father  and  sister  (and 
perhaps  herself  as  well)  believe  that  she  was. 

It  would  be  idle  to  pretend — as  Fanny  sometimes  tried 
to  do — that  the  qualities  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  were 
not  perfectly  well  known  to  the  Queen.  If  the  Queen 
was  not  aware  of  them,  she  was  the  only  one  of  the 
Royal  Household  who  remained  in  ignorance  in  this 
respect.  The  King,  at  any  rate,  knew  all  about  the 
beldam.  It  will  be  seen  in  due  course  that  when 
he  came  upon  Fanny  upon  one  memorable  occasion 
he  started  the  subject  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  and 
without  waiting  for  her  to  say  a  word,  begged  her  not 
to  mind  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.  “Never  mind  her! 
Don’t  be  oppressed !  I  am  your  friend  !  Don’t  let 
her  cast  you  down  !  I  know  you  have  had  a  hard 
time  of  it — but  don’t  mind  her  !  ”  He  went  on  to  say 
much  more  in  the  same  strain  ;  but  when  the  Queen 
asked  her  all  that  the  King  had  said,  she  omitted  his 
remarks  upon  this  fruitful  topic,  “  which  would  much, 
and  very  needlessly,  have  hurt  her,”  she  wrote. 

It  seems  rather  a  pity  that  she  did  not  enlighten 
Her  Majesty  on  a  matter  of  so  much  interest  to  every¬ 
body.  But  really  all  that  Fanny  could  have  told  her 
was  what  the  Queen  herself  knew  quite  well  :  for  how 
could  the  King  have  become  acquainted  with  the 
character  of  the  woman  and  the  Queen  remain  in 
ignorance  of  it  ?  And  yet,  even  in  her  last  year 
at  Windsor,  Fanny  could  write  to  her  father  that  she 
could  never  explain  to  the  Queen  “  that  a  situation 
which  unavoidably  casts  all  my  leisure  into  the 
presence  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  must  necessarily  be 


246 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


subversive  of  my  health,  because  incompatible  with 
my  peace,  my  ease,  my  freedom,  my  spirits,  and 
my  affections  ”  ;  for  “  the  Queen  is  probably  kept  from 
any  suspicion  of  the  true  nature  of  the  case  by  the 
praises  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  who,  with  all  her 
asperity  and  persecution,  is  uncommonly  partial  to 
my  society,  because,  in  order  to  relieve  myself  from 
sullen  gloom  or  apparent  despondency,  I  generally 
make  my  best  exertions  to  appear  gay  and  chatty ; 
for  when  I  can  do  this  she  forbears  both  rudeness 
and  imperiousness.  ...  I  would  not  turn  informer 
for  the  world.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  too,  with  all  her 
faults,  is  heart  and  soul  devoted  to  her  Royal 
mistress.” 

The  most  illuminating  glimpse  that  we  get  of  the 
woman  is,  however,  in  a  single  paragraph  in  that 
part  of  the  Diary  that  refers  to  the  dreadful  malady 
which  came  upon  the  King.  When  the  misery  of 
every  one  was  most  intense,  the  bulletin  being  to 
the  effect  that  His  Majesty  had  passed  his  worst  night 
— when  the  raving  of  the  madman  could  be  heard 
by  every  one  who  went  near  the  wing  of  the  Lodge 
at  Kew  to  which  he  had  been  conveyed,  back  from 
London  came  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  “so  oppressed 
between  her  spasms  and  the  house’s  horrors,  that  the 
oppression  she  inflicted  ought  perhaps  to  be  pardoned,” 
Miss  Burney  charitably  suggested.  “It  was,  how¬ 
ever,  difficult  enough  to  bear  !”  she  adds.  “  Harshness, 
tyranny,  dissension,  and  even  insult,  seemed  personi¬ 
fied.  I  cut  short  details  upon  this  subject — they 
would  but  make  you  sick.” 


, 


::y 


THE  TERROR  OF  THE  PALACE 


247 


We  cannot  do  better  than  follow  her  example  in 
regard  to  this  odious  wretch,  who  was  so  lost  to  all 
the  decencies  and  amenities  of  life  that  even  the 
terrible  blow  that  had  fallen  upon  the  Royal  House¬ 
hold  did  not  grant  those  connected  with  it  an  amnesty 
from  her  violence  and  brutality. 

But  she  was  undoubtedly  heart  and  soul  devoted 
to  her  Royal  mistress. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF 


NEOPHYTE 


CHAPTER  XVII 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NEOPHYTE 
HE  nature  of  her  position  and  of  her  environ- 


Jl  ment  in  the  ordinary  circumstances  of  her  life 
at  Windsor  and  Kew  has  perhaps  been  referred  to  at 
sufficient  length  to  enable  a  reader  to  understand  how 
appalling  the  monotony  must  have  been  to  the  author 
of  Evelina ,  who  had  since  her  childhood  been  accus¬ 
tomed  to  such  freedom  and  variety  of  intercourse 
with  people  of  culture. 

One  point  it  is  necessary  for  a  reader  to  bear  in 
mind  in  this  connection,  and  that  is,  all  the  time  she 
was  submitting  to  what  she  called  her  “  fate,”  with 
scarcely  a  murmur  against  its  hardships,  she  was 
quite  unaware  of  that  upon  which  we  are  to-day 
fully  informed — namely,  the  importance  to  her  of 
the  pecuniary  reward  which  she  was  to  receive  for 
her  heroism.  Reviewing  the  whole  circumstances 
of  her  connection  with  the  Court,  of  her  sufferings  in 
the  service  of  the  Queen,  and  of  her  life  afterward, 
and  knowing  how  extremely  important  a  part  the 
pension  which  she  received  played  in  her  after  life, 
and  the  sum  that  it  amounted  to  in  the  aggregate, 
every  reasonable  person  capable  of  pronouncing  a  sane 


252 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


opinion  on  a  purely  business  matter  must,  we  think, 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  Miss  Burney  did  very 
well  for  herself,  and  for  Madame  d’Arblay  in  parti¬ 
cular,  by  her  connection  with  the  Queen.  But  let 
it  not  be  forgotten  that  Fanny  Burney  knew  nothing 
of  this.  She  had  no  idea  that  after  five  years’  service 
she  would  be  granted  an  allowance  that  should 
make  all  the  difference  to  her  between  penury  and 
comfort — between  dependence  upon  contributions 
from  her  own  family  for  her  support,  and  in¬ 
dependence,  which,  in  her  case,  meant  marriage  with 
a  man  she  loved  and  the  happiness  of  motherhood. 
She  could  not  foresee  all  that  would  come  about 
through  her  having  that  fixed  income  for  her  life  ; 
and  this  being  so,  our  admiration  for  the  spirit  she 
displayed  in  putting  up  with  the  many  indignities 
of  the  servitude — in  putting  up  with  the  many  idiotic 
etiquettes,  the  foolish  forms  that  surround  a  monarch — 
in  putting  up  with  the  dullness  of  the  equerries,  the 
senile  advice  of  counsellors  whom  she  knew  to  be  in¬ 
finitely  inferior  to  her  in  intelligence,  and  the  tyranny 
of  a  woman  whose  qualities  made  her  more  fit  to 
discharge  the  duties  of  an  establishment  that  is 
proscribed  by  law  rather  than  those  of  intimate 
association  with  a  sovereign — -must  surely  be  im¬ 
measurably  increased.  People  will  work  patiently 
in  an  uncongenial  situation,  if  they  have  in  view  an 
end  that  they  know  to  be  greatly  to  their  advantage  ; 
but  Fanny  Burney  had  not  her  eyes  fixed  upon  so 
encouraging  a  prospect.  What  had  she  to  look 
forward  to  ?  Well,  she  had  seen  Mrs.  Haggerdorn 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NEOPHYTE  253 


retiring,  diseased  and  almost  blind,  from  Roya 
service,  and  she  saw  the  other  hag,  Mrs.  Schwel- 
lenberg,  spasmatic,  spending  all  her  time  between 
attendance  on  her  physician  in  London  and  plaguing 
every  one  at  Court,  loathed  by  all  and  a  burthen 
to  herself  at  the  age  of  sixty ! 

These  were  the  examples  of  the  fruits  of  the 
diligent  performance  of  the  service  upon  which  she 
had  entered  ;  and  what  a  prospect  must  the  sight 
of  them  have  suggested  to  a  woman  of  the  vivid 
imagination  of  Fanny  Burney  !  We  have  seen  the 
picture  which  came  from  the  imagination  of  a  French 
artist — the  picture  of  the  first  day  of  a  young  neophyte 
at  the  service  in  the  monastery  which  he  has  entered. 
On  every  side  of  him  are  the  figures  of  the  men  who 
have  grown  aged  in  the  service  of  the  Church.  One 
has  the  shrunken  smile  of  the  hopeless  imbecile, 
another  the  cunning  leer  of  the  half-demented,  on  the 
face  of  a  third  is  the  expression  of  the  Melancholia  of 
Albrecht  Diirer,  and  on  that  of  the  fourth  the  horrible 
blank  of  a  mind  decrepid.  All  show  uneven  fangs  or 
toothless  gums  as  they  sit  with  their  mouths  parted 
in  singing  the  praises  of  God. 

Thinking  of  the  picture  of  that  youthful  neophyte 
and  his  stimulating  surroundings,  we  get  a  suggestion, 
we  think,  of  the  picture  that  the  imagination  of  Fanny 
Burney  was  able  to  paint  of  the  result  of  her  service 
upon  the  Queen.  These  were  her  examples — the 
two  hags,  Haggerdorn  and  Hecate — to  this  favour 

o’  oo 

she  must  come  ! 

The  first  insight  that  she  had  into  the  difference 


254 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


there  was  between  her  old  life  and  her  new  came 
to  her  upon  the  occasion  of  the  great  treat  which 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg  had  promised  to  do  her  best 
to  obtain  for  her — a  treat  carrying  with  it  the  gift  of 
a  new  gown  to  save  her  from  feeling  the  humiliation 
of  poverty,  so  thoughtfully  expressed  by  her  senior 
colleague.  She  was  informed  that  the  King  and 
Queen  were  going  to  visit  Oxford,  and  that  she 
was  to  be  of  the  party.  She  gives  a  very  full  account 
of  this  excursion,  and  in  reading  it  we  quickly 
become  aware  of  the  gradual  awaking  to  the  truth 
of  what  her  adviser  had  said  about  her  utter  un¬ 
importance  upon  such  occasions  :  “  There  is  no  need 
you  might  be  seen.  I  shall  do  everything  I  can 
to  assist  you  to  appear  for  nobody.” 

But  there  was  one  person  at  Windsor  who  knew 
that  even  if  Miss  Burney  did  not  quite  succeed  in 
effacing  herself,  what  she  would  have  to  go  through 
during  the  visit  would  probably  efface  her  from  the 
earth  unless  she  took  care  of  herself.  It  was  the 
young  Princess  Elizabeth,  who,  after  the  King  and 
Queen  had  departed  early  in  the  morning,  begged 
her  in  a  whisper  to  lie  down  until  it  was  time  for 
her  to  start  with  the  rest  of  the  suite.  Their 
Majesties  were  to  breakfast  at  Lord  Harcourt’s, 
but  the  others  were  not  to  leave  Windsor  until 
they  had  eaten  an  early  dinner.  They  managed 
to  do  so  and  to  set  out  at  three  o’clock,  and  reached 
Nuneham  about  six.  And  then  began  the  first 
experience  that  the  author  of  Evelina  had  had  for 
several  years  of  being  a  nonentity;  and  although 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NEOPHYTE  255 


her  artistic  sense  enabled  her  to  see  the  comedy 
of  the  situation — at  some  moments  it  threatened  to 
become  a  farce — it  is  still  certain  she  felt  the  humilia¬ 
tion  that  it  brought  to  her  more  than  she  could 
discreetly  express. 

When  the  coach  arrived  at  the  door  of  the 
mansion,  which  she  describes  as  half-new,  half-old, 
half-comfortable  and  half-forlorn,  straggling,  but 
pleasantly  situated,  she  and  her  companions,  Miss 
Planta  and  a  German  dresser  for  the  Princesses, 
neither  porter  nor  footman  was  to  be  seen.  The 
postilions  had  to  dismount  in  order  to  assist  the 
ladies.  And  Miss  Burney  had  actually  fancied  that 
the  lady  of  the  house  would  have  given  instruc¬ 
tions  for  her  to  be  received  by  some  responsible 
member  of  the  family  !  Miss  Planta,  the  governess, 
knew  better.  She  would  not  allow  Fanny  to  walk 
about  until  some  one  chanced  to  turn  up  ;  but  pro¬ 
posed  that  they  should  enter  the  house  and  find  some 
one  to  show  them  to  their  rooms. 

This  was  excellent  advice,  but  it  was  not  so  easy  to 
follow  it.  They  went  inside,  and  after  wandering 
through  many  passages  came  upon  “a  prodigious  fine 
servant,”  and  ventured  to  ask  this  luminary  to  be 
directed  to  Lady  Harcourt’s  maid.  The  only  answer 
they  obtained  was  a  bow  as  he  walked  on.  Two 
more  servants,  evidently  proud  of  their  liveries,  treated 
them  with  the  same  cold  hauteur,  and  poor  Miss 
Burney,  accustomed  to  be  regarded  everywhere  as 
an  honoured  visitor,  was  overwhelmed  with  shame. 
She  felt  it  extremely  irksome  to  wander  about  the 


256 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


house  as  an  uninvited  guest — “a  visitor,  unthought 
of ;  without  even  a  room  to  go  to,  a  person  to 
inquire  for,  or  even  a  person  to  speak  to.”  She 
thought,  very  justly,  that  the  lady  of  the  house  was 
to  blame  for  this  negligence ;  and  when,  later,  the 
lady  of  the  house  appeared,  and,  on  being  informed 
of  the  misadventure,  apologised  for  her  neglect, 
Miss  Burney  treated  her  to  the  coldest  of  curtsies 
in  acknowledgment. 

After  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  fruitless  exploration  of 
corridors,  a  lady’s-maid  was  encountered,  and  after  lead¬ 
ing  them  to  a  parlour  overlooking  the  park,  in  which 
she  said  the  King  and  Queen  were  walking  with  their 
host  and  hostess,  left  the  room  to  order  tea.  As  she 
seemed  to  be  in  no  haste  to  return,  and  fearing  that 
the  Royal  party  might  choose  to  enter  the  house 
through  the  garden  door  of  this  room,  Miss  Burney 
and  her  companion  set  off  for  a  third  series  of  explora¬ 
tions,  but  met  with  no  greater  success  than  had 
resulted  from  their  previous  attempts  in  the  other 
passages,  though  they  came  in  contact  with  several 
of  the  gold-laced  superciliosities  who  had  too  fine  a 
sense  of  their  own  dignity  to  give  them  any  informa¬ 
tion.  The  whole  affair  must  have  suggested  the 
arrival  of  two  strangers  at  a  home  of  mystery, 
as  described  in  one  of  the  lurid  novels  which 
were  coming  into  fashion,  though  to  Fanny  it  was 
altogether  shocking. 

It  was  not  until  a  considerable  time  had  passed  that 
they  saw  in  the  distance  the  Princesses’  dresser,  and 
by  her  were  led  to  the  Princesses’  rooms.  While 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NEOPHYTE  257 


superintending  some  arrangements  here,  and  hasten¬ 
ing  from  passage  to  passage,  Lady  Harcourt 
appeared  on  a  landing,  and  being  acquainted  with 
Miss  Planta,  asked  to  be  introduced  to  Miss 
Burney. 

It  was  then  that  Fanny  retrieved  her  self-respect 
by  the  cold  curtsey  to  which  we  have  alluded. 

Miss  Planta,  accustomed  to  play  the  role  of  a 
nonentity,  laughed  most  heartily  when  Lady  Harcourt 
had  turned  her  back ;  but  Miss  Burney  could  perceive 
no  laughing  matter,  unless  there  was  something 
comical  about  her  own  dismay  to  the  eyes  of  her 
friend. 

In  the  Princesses’  room  tea  was  served,  and,  of 
course,  a  moment  later  the  Princess  Royal  and  her 
sister  Elizabeth  rushed  into  the  room,  and  endea¬ 
voured  to  place  Miss  Burney  at  her  ease,  only  suc¬ 
ceeding,  however,  in  increasing  her  confusion.  The 
pleasant  young  ladies  taking  their  departure  after  a 
time,  the  old  longing  came  upon  her  to  discover  her 
own  room. 

After  some  trouble  a  woman-servant  was  seized 
upon  and  asked  to  conduct  her  thither,  but  in 
descending  some  stairs  leading  to  the  state  apart¬ 
ments  the  Princess  Royal  suddenly  appeared  before 
her  with  Lady  Ancaster,  the  Mistress  of  the  Robes,  by 
her  side  ;  and  it  was  clear  that  the  Duchess  had  heard 
the  story  of  the  contretemps  up  to  that  point ;  but 
the  end  had  by  no  means  been  reached,  for,  on  Lady 
Ancaster’s  advising  her  to  take  possession  of  the 
eating-room,  which  the  ladies  were  to  have  in 

18 


258 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


common  with  the  equerries,  the  search  party  were 
stopped  by  the  arrival  of  the  King,  his  host  walking 
backward  with  candles,  as  etiquette  demanded,  and 
His  Majesty  spoke  to  Miss  Burney,  inquiring  about 
her  journey.  When  the  procession  had  moved  on 
and  the  eating-room  was  found,  Fanny  and  her  friend 
entered,  expecting  to  find  their  hostess’s  sisters,  the 
Miss  Vernons,  awaiting  them — Lady  Harcourt  had 
promised  their  attendance  to  do  the  second-class 
honours  of  the  establishment — but  the  room  was 
empty.  While  they  were  wondering  what  would 
come  next,  the  door  opened  and  it  came — the  incident 
taking  the  form  of  a  handsome  young  clergyman,  who 
bowed  civilly,  the  ladies  sinking  in  curtsies.  After¬ 
ward  came  the  equerries,  and  then  a  housemaid,  whom 
Fanny  appropriated  in  order  to  be  shown  to  her 
room,  the  fact  being  that  the  non-arrival  of  any  of 
the  ladies  of  the  house  struck  her  as  being  so  uncivil 
that  all  she  wished  was  to  retire  as  speedily  as  possible 
from  the  party.  Finding  herself  at  last  within  the 
room,  she  talked  over  Miss  Planta  to  her  plan  of 
not  returning  to  the  company  until  sent  for ;  and 
so  for  two  hours  they  remained  alone  and  apart 
from  the  household.  Then  a  housemaid  knocked 
at  the  door  with  the  announcement  that  supper  was 
ready,  and  fled  before  they  could  get  an  answer 
from  her  to  their  question,  “Who  sent  you?”  The 
servants  in  this  establishment  seemed  to  be  the 
servants  of  a  farce ;  and  Miss  Planta’s  treatment  of 
the  next  one  that  knocked  at  the  door — this  time 
it  was  a  gold-laced  footman — appertained  to  the 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NEOPHYTE  259 


visitor  in  a  farce.  With  a  sort  of  “  No,  you  don’t  ” 
manner  of  the  farcical  soubrette,  she  darted  after  him  ; 
but  he  was  too  quick  for  her  ;  her  “  Who  sent  you  ?  ” 
missed  him,  but  some  one  else  down  the  corridor 
shouted  the  inquiry  after  him,  and  he  was  heard  to 
reply,  “  The  equerries  want  the  ladies  !  ” 

This  was  enough.  Miss  Planta  called  back,  “  We 
don’t  choose  any  supper,”  and  returned  to  the  room 
overflowing  with  indignation.  It  did  not  matter  to 
the  yellow-laced  footman — he  would  be  styled 
“  flunkey  ”  in  the  farce — it  was  a  matter  of  indiffer¬ 
ence  to  him  whether  the  ladies  got  supper  or  went 
hungry  to  bed.  And  then  a  council  of  war  took 
place  between  the  sulky  ladies.  Miss  Planta  thought 
the  equerries  insolent,  but  Miss  Burney  knew  they 
were  not  to  blame  :  it  was  the  want  of  common  civility 
on  the  part  of  the  ladies  of  the  house  that  she  held 
responsible  for  all. 

Of  course  the  last  act — the  usual  conciliation  and 
explanation — was  played  before  the  curtain  was  rung 
down — part  of  it  before  Miss  Burney  had  “  drawn 
her  midnight  curtain  close”;  for  Lady  Harcourt 
came  to  her  room  with  a  pleasant  message,  and  in 
the  morning  Miss  Planta  had  an  interview  with  the 
equerries  and  learned  from  them  that  the  message 
which  had  been  sent  from  them  was  that  the  Miss 
Vernons — Lady  Harcourt’s  sisters — begged  the  com¬ 
pany  of  Miss  Burney  and  Miss  Planta  to  supper.  The 
whole  story  had  been  told  to  the  Queen,  and  she  gave 
her  approval  to  the  dignity  assumed  by  the  ladies,  and 
before  the  next  morning  had  advanced  very  far  it  was 


260 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


over  the  house,  and  every  one  was  laughing  over  the 
gold-laced  “  gag  ” — “  The  equerries  want  the  ladies  !  ” 
Many  comedies  have  been  written  on  a  far  narrower 
basis  than  this  which  was  played  among  the  passages 
of  Nuneham  Courtney  in  1786. 


A  DAY  OF  WAITING 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


A  DAY  OF  WAITING 
HE  firm  standing  up  for  the  dignity  of  her  posi- 


X  tion  by  Miss  Burney,  just  recorded,  shows  that 
she  should  not  always  be  regarded  as  the  shy  little 
mouse  of  St.  Martin’s  Street.  She  showed  that  she 
was  quite  capable  of  asserting  herself  when  occasion 
made  it  necessary  for  her  to  do  so.  But  her  later 
references  to  the  Miss  Vernons  proved  also  that  she 
was  incapable  of  doing  injustice  to  any  one  in  her 
Diary :  for  although  these  dim  ladies  had  been,  to  say 
the  least,  strangely  negligent  of  the  convenances  of 
their  position  as  deputies  of  Lady  Harcourt,  Fanny 
is  ready  with  excuses  for  them,  even  when  they 
had  shown  themselves  still  more  indifferent  to  the 
call  of  politeness  by  hurrying  off  to  church,  leaving 
her  and  Miss  Planta  to  find  their  way  thither  as 
best  they  might. 

“  When  the  service  was  over  and  the  Royal 
Family  were  gone,  I  thought  it  but  right  in  such  a 
place,”  she  says,  “  to  subdue  my  proud  feelings  so  far 
as  to  say  to  the  Miss  Vernons  I  hoped  we  had  not 
disturbed  them.” 

Then  Miss  Vernon  coloured  and  apologised  for 


263 


264 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


hurrying  on  to  church,  and  endeavoured  to  make 
amends  for  the  past  by  doing  the  honours  of  the 
altar-piece,  painted  by  Mason,  the  poet,  and  repre¬ 
senting  “The  Good  Samaritan,”  we  are  told  by  Mr. 
Austin  Dobson,  whose  editorial  notes  to  the  six- 
volume  edition  of  the  Diary  are  the  delight  of  all 
students  of  the  century. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  know  if  Miss  Burney 
dilated  to  the  Miss  Vernons  upon  the  possibility  of 
a  modern  application  being  made  of  the  lessons  of 
the  parable  illustrated  by  Mr.  Mason. 

But  before  attending  the  religious  service  in  the 
chapel,  Miss  Burney  was  privileged  to  take  part  in 
another,  only  second  in  importance  in  her  estimation  : 
she  had  to  take  part  in  the  Royal  toilette  at  eight 
o’clock,  Her  Majesty  having  considerately  told  her 
that  she  would  not  want  her  earlier,  knowing  as  she 
did  that  there  would  be  some  difficulty  over  the 
hairdressing. 

There  was  considerable  difficulty  over  this  crowning 
office  of  the  toilette.  The  architect  of  the  imposing 
structure  that  surmounted  the  head  of  the  Lady  of 
Quality  during  the  last  quarter  of  the  eighteenth 
century  was  possibly  the  most  important  official  of  the 
levee.  In  the  Royal  Household,  his  duties  were 
naturally  arduous,  especially  when  Her  Majesty  had 
reached  those  years  when  her  locks  were  showing 
signs  of  “thinning”  and  required  to  be  dealt  with 
tenderly  and  economically.  And  if  the  Queen  de¬ 
manded  the  attention  of  such  an  artist,  his  minis¬ 
trations  were  equally  needed  by  her  attendants. 


A  DAY  OF  WAITING 


265 


We  get  a  hint  of  the  exigencies  of  the  fashion  of 
the  hour  in  many  parts  of  the  Diary,  but  in  none 
more  distinctly  than  those  referring  to  the  visit  to 
Nuneham.  Oxford  was  the  “objective”  of  the  next 
day’s  excursion,  and  Fanny  has  pride  in  recording  the 
joy  she  felt  on  being  able  to  tell  the  Queen,  on  Her 
Majesty’s  making  the  inquiry,  that  she  had  brought 
with  her  “a  new  Chamberry  gauze,”  having  ignored 
the  command  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  only  to  carry 
with  her  one  dress.  But  the  beauty  of  the  fabric 
which  she  specified  would  not  compensate  for 
negligence  in  another  direction ;  so,  long  after 
midnight,  Miss  Burney  had  to  make  arrangements 
to  send  into  Oxford  to  obtain  the  services  of  a  hair¬ 
dresser  on  her  behalf  at  six  o’clock  in  the  morning. 
As  the  Queen  did  not  want  her  until  eight,  she 
thought  that  she  could  just  manage  to  have  her  hair 
made  tidy  within  the  two  hours. 

She  had  formed  too  optimistic  an  estimate  of  the 
work.  The  artist  began  punctually  at  six,  and  yet  he 
had  not  finished  when  the  Queen’s  own  hairdresser 
came  to  announce  that  Her  Majesty  was  waiting  for 
her  attendance.  She  just  managed  to  get  to  the 
Royal  dressing-room,  but  she  had  a  narrow  escape 
of  being  too  late,  even  though  she  had  not  waited  to 
put  on  her  cap.  The  gracious  Queen,  hearing  of  her 
difficulty,  promised  her  in  any  future  emergency  the 
services  of  the  assistant  to  her  own  hairdresser,  “as 
soon  as  he  had  done  with  the  Princesses  ”  ! 

Now,  if  each  of  the  Princesses  required  two  hours 
for  her  hairdressing,  and  Miss  Burney  could  not  do 


266 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


with  less,  it  is  plain  that  the  coiffeur  would  find  it 
necessary  to  begin  work  about  one  o’clock  in  the 
morning,  for  of  course  it  could  not  be  expected  that 
the  Queen  would  wait  until  eight  o’clock  every  day  ! 
Rarely  during  the  century  that  has  elapsed  since  those 
days  has  the  feminine  fashion  in  hair  been  so 
exacting.  If  the  young  Princesses  were  compelled  to 
get  up  shortly  after  midnight  to  have  their  hair 
dressed  for  the  morning,  they  were  more  fortunate 
than  Lady  Austen,  of  Olney,  who  was  compelled 
to  sit  up  every  Saturday  night  for  fear  of  dis¬ 
arranging  the  structure  of  her  hair,  which  her  coiffeur 
had  to  create  before  midnight,  as  he  refused,  from 
conscientious  scruples,  to  work  on  the  Sabbath 
day.  The  gentle  religious  atmosphere  of  Olney,  if 
eminently  favourable  to  the  enrichment  of  the  hymnal, 
clearly  had  its  drawbacks. 

But  the  demands  of  the  toilette  complied  with,  the 
Royal  party  set  out  for  Oxford,  and  Miss  Burney  had 
another  opportunity  of  learning  that  the  honour  of 
being  part  of  the  Royal  train  demanded  more  than 
a  little  self-sacrifice.  It  was  not  that  the  service  was 
laborious,  but  that  it  was  constant — in  that  fact  may 
be  found  the  disagreeable  impression  it  produced  upon 
Fanny  Burney.  It  must  have  seemed  to  her,  as  it 
seems  to  us,  a  frightful  waste  of  time.  During  the 
visit  to  Oxford  she  had  little  to  do  except  to  keep  on 
her  feet ;  but  when  she  had  discharged  this  duty  for 
several  consecutive  hours  and  had  not  been  allowed 
the  meal-hours  of  the  ordinary  domestic,  she  could  not 
be  blamed  if  now  and  again  she  had  an  unworthy  feel- 


A  DAY  OF  WAITING 


267 


ing  that  the  honour  of  her  place  barely  compensated 
for  the  hardship  that  was  associated  with  it. 

The  party  consisted  of  the  King  and  Queen,  three 
Princesses,  the  Duchess  of  Ancaster  (Mistress  of  the 
Robes),  Lord  and  Lady  Harcourt,  Lady  Charlotte 
Bertie,  and  the  two  Miss  Vernons.  The  equerries 
were  General  Harcourt,  Colonel  Digby,  and  Major 
Price  ;  the^  chaplain  was  the  handsome  young  Mr. 
Hugget,  and  the  ladies  in  attendance  were  Miss 
Burney  and  Miss  Planta. 

Finding  herself  in  the  midst  of  the  buildings  that 
suggested  so  much  to  her  by  “their  grandeur,  nobility, 
antiquity,  and  elevation,”  Fanny,  who  was  possibly  the 
only  one  of  the  train  with  any  imagination,  confesses 
to  a  lapse.  “  I  felt,  for  the  first  time  since  my  new 
situation  had  taken  place,  a  rushing  in  of  ideas  that 
had  no  connection  with  it  whatever.”  This  was 
humiliating.  It  would  have  horrified  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg  to  hear  that  Miss  “  Bernar  ”  had  so  far  forgotten 
her  duty  as  to  allow  herself  to  be  touched  by  some 
emotions  that  did  not  emanate  from  a  sense  of  the 
privileges  she  enjoyed  in  being  permitted  nightly  to 
enwrap  the  Queen  in  her  peignoir. 

She]  describes,  with  an  ample  appreciation  of  its 
picturesque  as  well  as  its  comedy  elements,  the 
ceremony  of  presenting  an  address  to  the  King  by 
the  Vice-Chancellor  in  the  theatre ;  but  she  con¬ 
fesses  that  she  would  have  taken  more  interest  in 
all  that  was  going  on  if  she  could  have  made  up 
her  mind  whether  she  should  regard  herself  as  a 
mere  casual  onlooker  or  as  a  member  of  the  Royal 


268 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


suite.  She  must  constantly  have  been  wondering, 
as  we  do  to-day,  what  business  she  had  at  Oxford 
upon  this  occasion.  The  Queen  was  not  likely  to 
call  upon  her  to  put  her  to  bed,  nor  did  Her 
Majesty  contemplate  a  sudden  change  of  toilette. 
But  she  was  in  the  Queen’s  service,  and  she  may 
have  recalled  very  vividly,  before  the  day  was  over, 
Milton’s  line  : — 

“  They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait.” 

The  day  was  one  of  such  standing  and  waiting  as 
she  had  never  before  experienced. 

“  Poor  Miss  Burney !  ”  cried  the  Mistress  of  the 
Robes  to  the  Junior  Keeper  of  the  Robes.  “Poor 
Miss  Burney !  I  wish  she  could  sit  down,  for 
she  is  unused  to  this  work.  She  does  not  know 
yet  what  it  is  to  stand  for  five  hours  following,  as 
we  do.” 

Poor  Miss  Burney  knew  before  the  day  was  over. 

The  truth  was  that  the  learned  heads  of  the 
University  had  not  expected  to  have  to  provide 
luncheon  for  any  but  the  members  of  the  Royal 
Family.  They  had  apparently  not  anticipated  the 
arrival  of  several  carriages  laden  with  people  of  the 
Royal  Household,  every  one  of  whom  would  have 
had  as  much  satisfaction  as  their  Majesties  could 
possibly  have  in  allaying  the  pangs  of  hunger  and 
thirst ;  and  the  result  was  a  day  of  feasting  for 
the  Royalties  and  of  famishing  for  their  attendants. 

The  address  presented  to  the  King  was,  of  course, 
of  the  usual  type  ;  only  it  contained  a  congratulatory 


A  DAY  OF  WAITING 


269 


reference  to  the  escape  which  His  Majesty  had  had 
from  the  knife  of  the  madwoman.  Every  one  in 
the  building,  seeing  the  Queen  and  Princesses 
deeply  affected,  was  also  affected,  or  affected  to  be 
affected,  until  no  dry  eye  remained.  The  King 
read  his  reply  with  “  ease,  feeling,  force,  and  with¬ 
out  any  hesitation.”  After  some  playing  on  the 
organ  (Handel,  we  trust),  the  Vice-Chancellor  and 
the  Professors  begged  to  have  the  honour  of 
kissing  the  King’s  hand  ;  and  though  His  Majesty 
saw  that  it  would  be  impossible,  considering  the  in¬ 
firmities  of  some  of  the  learned  gentlemen,  at  once  to 
satisfy  their  laudable  ambition  and  the  exigencies  of 
etiquette  involved  in  the  act,  without  considerable 
personal  risk,  for  there  were  rather  steep  stairs  leading 
to  the  platform,  and  every  stair  had  to  be  trodden 
backward ,  he  gave  his  consent.  The  problem  of  how 
to  manage  the  hand-kissing  without  loss  of  life  or 
injury  to  limb  was  solved  by  the  King’s  descending 
the  stairs  and  receiving  the  dignitaries  without 
risk  to  their  dignity  on  the  floor  of  the  hall.  But 
the  gracious  thoughtfulness  of  the  monarch  was  lost 
upon  some  of  them,  for  the  moment  they  had 
kissed  the  Royal  hand  they  turned  right  about 
and  strolled  off  contentedly  ;  others,  in  striving  after 
formality,  tripped  over  their  robes  and  trod  on  the 
toes  of  their  brethren  behind  them  ;  the  rest,  either 
through  being  unaccustomed  to  kneel  or  having 
a  too  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  lines  of  Ovid — 

“Os  homini  sublime  dedit,  caslumque  tueri 
Jussit,  et  erectos  ad  sidera,  tollere  vultus” — 


270 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


boldly  lifted  the  King’s  hand  to  their  lips ;  but  even 
these  were  more  polite  than  some  of  their  weaker 
brethren,  who,  when  they  had  got  down  upon  their 
knees,  found  it  impossible  to  rise  again  except  by 
a  long  pull  and  a  strong  pull  upon  the  King’s 
hand. 

Miss  Burney’s  eye  for  comedy  took  in  all  that  was 
to  be  seen,  and  her  pen  described  the  scene  with 
great  animation.  Nor  did  this  spirit  desert  her 
when  she  had  to  refer  to  the  subsequent  incidents 
of  the  day.  After  visiting  the  colleges  a  cold 
collation  was  spread  upon  the  table  at  Christ 
Church  for  the  Royalties.  “  I  could  not  see  of 
what  it  consisted,”  wrote  Miss  Burney,  “though 
it  would  have  been  very  agreeable,  after  so  much 
standing  and  sauntering,  to  have  given  my  opinion  of 
it  in  an  experimental  way.” 

At  once  their  Majesties  and  the  Princesses  sat 
down  to  the  table,  and  the  privilege  of  watching  them 
eat  and  drink  was  graciously  extended  to  their  loyal 
subjects  at  the  bottom  of  the  hall. 

But  if  the  appetite  grows  with  eating,  assuredly 
it  does  not  diminish  through  watching  others  eat ; 
and  soon  the  whisper  went  round  the  semicircle 
of  earnest  watchers  that  the  ladies  of  the  suite  were 
famishing.  They  had  had  nothing  to  eat  since  early 
in  the  morning,  and  now  the  hour  was  long  past  three. 
The  authorities  whispered  that  they  could  have 
anything  in  reason  that  they  chose  to  ask  for,  and 
they,  womanlike,  suggested  tea,  coffee,  or  chocolate. 
By  the  ingenuity  of  the  equerries,  and  their  professional 


A  DAY  OF  WAITING 


271 


skill  in  improvising  a  defence,  the  difficulties  incidental 
to  satisfying  appetites  and  etiquette  at  the  same  time 
were  overcome  by  the  order  being  given  for  a 
body  of  the  onlookers  to  act  as  a  screen  while 
the  ladies,  one  at  a  time,  attacked  the  viands  on  a 
table  far  down  the  hall.  In  this  manner  they  were  all 
eventually  “  very  plentifully  and  very  pleasantly 
served,”  Miss  Burney  records.  And  the  employment 
of  the  same  tactics  enabled  the  Duchess  of 
Ancaster  and  Lady  Charlotte  Bertie — the  latter  had 
sprained  her  ankle — to  take  a  well-earned  rest. 

And  now  the  rumour  seemed  to  have  spread  in 
certain  directions  that  one  of  the  ladies  in  the 
Queen’s  suite  was  actually  the  daughter  of  a  Doctor 
of  Music  of  the  University,  and  this  caused  several 
of  the  professors  to  address  her  by  name — some  of 
them  might  even  have  heard  of  Evelina  and  Cecilia  ; 
and  when  she  was  lingering  in  one  of  the  chapels, 
a  dignitary,  with  that  facetiousness  which  goes 
with  the  professional  gown  in  the  stress  of  circum¬ 
stances  beyond  human  control  remarked  that  she 
seemed  inclined  to  abide  with  them ;  upon  which 
a  rival  humorist,  of  the  same  order,  not  to  be 
outdone,  cried,  “No,  no;  don’t  let  us  shut  up 
Miss  Burney  among  old  tombs! — No,  no!” 

All  this  was  delightful  to  Miss  Burney  and  prevented 
her  from  feeling  either  hungry  or  tired  any  more ; 
so  that  when,  later  in  the  day,  after  other  colleges 
had  been  visited  and  the  Mayor  of  Oxford  knighted, 
an  equerry  produced  from  his  pocket  a  paper  of 
apricots  and  bread — a  singular  combination  for  a  meal 


272 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


— she  could  decline  them,  as  well  as  an  invitation 
to  rest  in  a  room  not  likely  to  be  visited  by  Royalty. 
He  insisted,  however,  on  her  taking  an  apricot. 

But  the  repast  was  not  more  than  begun  by  the 
equerry  and  his  friends  when  the  door  suddenly 
opened  and  the  Queen  entered  with  as  many  atten¬ 
dants  as  the  room  would  contain. 

“  Quick  into  our  pockets  was  crammed  our  bread 
and  close  into  our  hands  was  squeezed  our  fruit,”  she 
wrote,  “by  which  I  discovered  that  our  appetites 
were  supposed  to  be  annihilated,  at  the  same  time 
that  our  strength  was  to  be  invincible.” 

In  an  equally  light-hearted  way  she  refers  to  some 
of  the  breaches  of  etiquette  that  took  place  when 
the  King  entered  some  room  where  he  was  not 
expected  by  any  one,  and  of  the  heroic  attempts 
made  by  men  and  women  to  keep  themselves  from 
forfeiting  their  self-respect  for  ever  by  falling  short  in 
any  way  of  the  requirements  of  the  situation.  But 
withal  good  people  were  evermore  tripping  over  their 
gowns  in  their  well-meant  attempts  to  walk  in  a  way 
that  Nature  never  intended  they  should  walk,  and 
others  were  breathlessly  sliding  along  the  wainscot 
toward  the  doors,  suggesting  nothing  so  much, 
apparently,  as  children  playing  blind  man’s  buff. 

Never  for  a  moment  did  Miss  Burney  lose  her 
interest  in  what  was  going  on  ;  and  this  was  her 
saving  while  in  the  service  of  the  Queen. 

She  left  Nuneham  on  excellent  terms  with  every 
one — and,  we  are  inclined  to  think,  with  herself  as 
well  ;  for  she  had  by  her  firmness  and  tact  vindicated 


A  DAY  OF  WAITING 


273 


her  claim  to  be  looked  upon,  not  as  a  woman  content 
to  lose  her  identity  within  a  vague  reference  to  “  the 
suite,”  but  as  a  personality  owing  nothing  to  the 
incident  of  her  moving  as  a  part  of  a  procession  with 
Royalty  at  the  head.  She  had  gone  directly  against 
the  advice — its  insistence  gave  it  the  air  of  a  com¬ 
mand — of  her  colleague  in  every  particular :  she  had 
been  told  that  she  must  be  content  to  annihilate 
herself  upon  every  occasion  when  breathing  the  same 
atmosphere  as  the  Queen,  and  her  monitress  had  very 
kindly  promised  to  assist  her  to  this  end  by  all  the 
means  in  her  power.  But  Fanny  had  ignored  her  com¬ 
mand,  and  the  result  was  that  she  left  Nuneham  as 
Miss  Burney,  not  merely  as  a  nameless  one  of  “  the 
suite.”  If  one  of  the  yellow-laced  gentlemen  who  had 
ignored  her  arrival  at  the  house  had  been  equally  in¬ 
solent  on  her  departure,  he  would  have  celebrated  his 
own  departure  the  next  hour.  So  much  we  may  con¬ 
clude  from  the  buoyant  air  of  her  entries  in  the  Diary 
describing  the  attention  paid  to  her  by  Lord  Harcourt 
and  the  Miss  Vernons  during  the  last  day  of  her  stay 
at  Nuneham.  If  she  had  not  been  in  a  particularly 
good  humour  with  every  one — including  herself — she 
would  not  have  felt  inclined  to  give  us  so  sprightly  an 
account  of  the  sudden  appearance  at  the  breakfast- 
table  of  the  wife  of  General  Harcourt,  a  lady  with 
the  arch  manner  of  the  faded  belle  of  the  century — 
all  powder  and  pout,  simper  and  smile — rallying  her 
husband,  but  getting  no  response  except  in  his  grave 
looks  and  the  expressive  silence  of  every  one  at  the 
table— a  finished  little  sketch  ready  to  be  developed 

19 


274 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


into  a  complete  picture  by  any  novelist  who  has  need 
for  a  suggestion  taken  from  life. 

On  the  whole,  then,  we  are  inclined  to  believe  that 
the  Queen  was  greatly  pleased  with  her  new  Robe- 
keeper  ;  and  we  are  sure  that  Miss  Planta,  who, 
we  suspect,  had  long  ago  adopted  the  easy-going 
scheme  of  self-effacement,  conceived  a  respect  for 
Miss  Burney,  since  she  had  shown  that  her  attitude 
was  one  of  self-respect  and  reasonable  dignity.  At 
any  rate,  Miss  Planta  and  she  formed  a  friendship 
— with  something  of  the  nature  of  a  defensive  alliance 
in  it — that  grew  stronger  in  the  face  of  the  tyranny  to 
which  they  were  subjected  in  Mrs.  Schwellenberg’s 


room. 


LEARNING  HER  BUSINESS 


CHAPTER  XIX 


LEARNING  HER  BUSINESS 

THE  excursion  to  Oxford  took  place  in  August, 
1786  —  Fanny  Burney  had  entered  on  her 
duties  in  July — and  it  remained  for  a  long  time  the 
most  important  incident  that  she  had  to  record.  She 
had,  however,  several  interesting  hours,  making  the 
acquaintance  of  quite  a  variety  of  people,  all  worthy 
of  the  notice  of  one  who  delighted  to  observe — some¬ 
times  with  the  eye  of  the  microscopist  preparing  a 
new  “  slide  ” — men  and  women  and  their  ways.  She 
met  Herschel  several  times,  and  his  sister,  who  had 
proved  that  the  discovery  of  comets  was  not  outside  a 
woman’s  “  sphere,”  and  as  an  industry  it  has  had  more 
than  one  female  follower  since.  Dr.  Herschel  came 
to  the  Lodge  “to  exhibit  the  new  comet,”  Fanny 
Burney  quaintly  writes,  as  though  it  were  a  strange 
animal  brought  by  her  friend  Bruce  from  Abyssinia, 
or  a  curious  fruit  brought  by  her  sailor  brother  from 
the  South  Seas.  The  next  entry  has  a  feminine 
touch  about  it :  the  comet  had  turned  into  a  baby  ; 
it  was  “very  small  and  had  nothing  grand  or  striking 
in  its  appearance,”  she  wrote,  “  but  it  is  a  first  lady’s 
comet,”  she  added  apologetically — as  if  to  suggest 
that  too  much  should  not  be  expected  from  a 

277 


278 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


beginner.  But  then  Herschel  showed  her  “some  of 
his  new  discovered  universes,”  and  these  were,  of 
course,  admirably  finished  productions,  being  the 
work  of  a  man. 

Strange  to  say,  she  does  not  in  this  connection 
remind  her  sister  that  their  mother  had  once  written 
a  treatise  on  comets.  The  interest  that  she  took  in 
astronomy — those  were  the  days  immediately  ante¬ 
cedent  to  the  appearance  of  “  Astronomy  and  the 
Use  of  the  Globes  ”  in  the  curriculum  of  the 
“  Seminary  for  Young  Ladies  ” — shows  that  she  had 
not  lived  in  vain  in  the  house  that  Sir  Isaac  Newton 
had  once  inhabited.  Dr.  Burney  had  the  greatest 
admiration  for  the  great  investigator,  being  something 
of  an  astronomer  himself. 

Miss  Harriet  Bowdler,  whose  name,  owing  to  her 
brother’s  amiable  achievement  in  the  production  of 
a  properly  expurgated  edition  of  Shakespeare,  gave 
a  word  to  the  English  language  that  Shakespeare 
would  have  delighted  in,  was  also  among  the  new 
acquaintances.  Miss  Bowdler  had  written  a  volume 
of  sermons  which  went  into  fifty  editions  !  Evelina 
had  only  reached  a  fifth  at  this  time.  But  we  now 
require  the  services  of  an  erudite  editor  like  Mr. 
Austin  Dobson  to  tell  us  who  Miss  Bowdler  was, 
while  the  name  of  Fanny  Burney  holds  its  place  in 
the  catalogue  of  every  library. 

Shortly  afterward  she  found  herself,  owing  to  the 
absence  of  her  Senior  in  the  hands  of  her  doctor  in 
London,  the  head  of  the  ante-room — the  Prtsidente  of 
the  table  at  which  the  Queen’s  own  guests  were 


LEARNING  HER  BUSINESS 


279 


bidden  to  dine,  and  of  whose  hospitality  more  than 
one  bishop  had  partaken.  Fanny  must  have  felt 
elated — certainly  her  friends  the  equerries  were 
overjoyed.  But,  alas !  her  pride  quickly  had  a 
fall !  The  Queen  had  one  morning  told  her  to 
invite  to  her  table  a  certain  German  clergyman 
named  Mithoff,  and  as  the  invitation  was  for  the 
next  day,  she  sent  her  servant  to  him  imme¬ 
diately,  presenting  her  compliments  and  asking  for 
the  pleasure  of  his  company.  The  Queen  had  said 
to  her,  “I  assure  you  he  is  a  very  worthy  man, 
of  very  excellent  character,  or  I  would  not  ask 
you  to  invite  him.”  So  high  a  recommendation 
coming  from  such  a  quarter  could  not  but  have  gone 
far  in  allaying  any  suspicions  that  Fanny  might  have 
been  disposed  to  harbour  respecting  the  gentleman, 
and  she  thought  it  a  pity  that  so  admirable  a  person 
should  be  kept  all  to  herself,  so  she  wrote  to  Miss  Port, 
Mrs.  Delany’s  niece,  to  keep  her  company  upon  this 
occasion. 

Unfortunately  Miss  Port  did  not  appear  at  the  hour 
named  for  the  dinner ;  but  some  one  else  did  :  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  walked  into  the  room  and  took  her 
accustomed  place  as  Prdsidente ,  insisting  that  the 
dinner  should  be  served  without  a  moment’s  delay. 
In  a  short  time  Miss  Port  arrived,  and  immediately 
afterward  the  German  clergyman,  who  was  very  badly 
received  by  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.  He,  however, 
marched  up  to  Miss  Burney  and,  after  thanking  her 
for  the  invitation,  assured  her  that  he  had  never  been 
so  flattered  before. 


280 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


The  dinner  went  on  without  Mrs.  Schwellenberg’s 
sullenness  departing  ;  and  when  an  adjournment  was 
made  to  the  room  upstairs  for  coffee,  the  stranger 
renewed  his  thanks ;  and  when  he  learned  that  he 
had  been  invited  by  order  of  the  Queen  he  was 
the  more  delighted. 

It  was  like  her  monitress  to  draw  her  aside  at 
that  moment  with  the  inquiry  : 

“  For  what  have  you  brought  me  this  man  ?  ” 

Fanny  could  not  reply  lest  the  gentleman  might 
hear  her ;  but  turning  to  him,  tried  to  make  con¬ 
versation  by  asking  if  he  intended  remaining  for  long 
at  Windsor  ;  at  which  he  looked  surprised  and  assured 
her  that  he  had  no  thought  of  leaving.  She  began 
to  suspect  that  some  curious  mistake  had  been  made, 
and  so,  later,  she  addressed  him  as  Mr.  Mithoff.  He 
stared  at  her  and  said  that  his  name  was  not  Mr. 
Mithoff! 

It  was  clear  that  a  mistake  had  been  made,  but  she 
did  her  best  to  relieve  the  man’s  embarrassment ;  he 
was,  however,  modest,  she  said,  and  soon  after  took 
his  leave.  Of  course  the  servant  who  had  been 
charged  with  the  delivery  of  this  invitation  to  Mr. 
Mithoff  was  brought  up  and  interrogated ;  and  he 
calmly  said  he  had  forgotten  the  gentleman’s  name, 
but  as  she  had  said  that  he  was  a  German  clergyman, 
he  had  given  the  message  to  the  first  German  clergy¬ 
man  whom  he  had  met.  Is  was  plainly  his  belief  that 
one  would  do  as  well  as  another  for  dining  purposes. 

We  do  not  hear  wh'at  the  Queen  said  when  she  was 
made  aware  of  this  most  awkward  contretemps ;  and 


LEARNING  HER  BUSINESS 


281 


Fanny  evidently  thought  it  unnecessary  to  record 
what  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  said,  and  she  was  certainly 
right.  The  omission  can  easily  be  made  good  by 
any  one  who  has  become  informed  as  to  the  ability 
of  that  lady  to  make  her  feelings  intelligible  even 
in  moments  of  excitement. 

This  manservant,  called  John,  who  had  been 
allotted  to  Miss  Burney,  was  beyond  doubt  not  merely 
a  fool,  but  a  very  insolent  fool.  He  was  constantly 
making  mistakes,  and  taking  on  himself  to  put  his 
own  interpretation  upon  the  obvious.  He  was  a 
John  Wilson  Croker  sort  of  lackey  in  this  respect. 

Before  two  months  had  passed  he  had  placed  Miss 
Burney  in  another  extremely  awkward  position.  He 
had  apparently  got  an  appointment  of  his  own  to  keep 
one  evening,  and  so  went  to  the  room  in  which 
the  equerries  were  dining,  rapping  at  the  door  and 
saying,  “  My  lady  is  waiting  tea.”  The  gentlemen 
hurried  through  their  dinner  in  response  to  this 
summons,  which  they  supposed  came  from  her  :  but 
it  so  happened  that  this  was  an  evening  on  which 
Fanny  Burney  had  been  sent  on  a  commission  to 
Mrs.  Delany ;  so  that  she  had  time  only  to  look 
into  the  tea-room  before  she  left.  The  equerries 
were  there,  and  she  hastily  mentioned  to  them  that 
she  was  going  out,  without  making  any  attempt 
to  apologise  for  so  doing.  She  only  said  that  she 
would  probably  return  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  and 
give  them  tea ;  but  if  they  were  hurried,  her  servant 
would  bring  it  in  at  once. 

Colonel  Goldsworthy  looked  surprised  and  dis- 


282 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


pleased,  and  his  brother  equerries  no  less  so ;  and 
when  she  returned  she  could  not  but  notice  that  these 
expressions  were  intensified.  She  was  quite  be¬ 
wildered  when,  after  pouring  out  the  tea,  Goldsworthy 
made  a  speech  to  her,  slightly  sarcastic,  saying  that 
he  feared  that  he  and  his  companions  were  intruding 
upon  her,  but  assuring  her  that  they  would  not  have 
done  so  had  they  not  received  her  urgent  summons. 
This  was  not  enlightening  to  her,  and  she  demanded 
to  be  informed  what  summons  had  ever  come  from 
her  to  the  equerries.  Then  the  truth  respecting  the 
servant’s  presumption  was  revealed,  and  the  status 
quo  ante  in  the  tea-room  was  restored. 

Fanny  must  have  been  all  the  more  annoyed  at 
the  man’s  insolence  by  reason  of  its  affecting  Colonel 
Goldsworthy,  the  equerry  in  waiting,  who  was  cer¬ 
tainly  on  the  friendliest  terms  with  her,  and  who 
had  caused  her  many  a  laugh  by  his  humorous  ways 
and  his  dry  deliverances,  many  of  them  touched  with 
a  cynicism  he  could  never  have  felt.  It  was  he  who 
defined  the  life  of  an  attendant  upon  Royalty. 
“  Well  l  it’s  honour !  that’s  one  comfort ;  it’s  all  honour ! 
Royal  honour ! — one  has  the  honour  to  stand  till 
one  has  not  a  foot  left,  and  to  ride  till  one’s  stiff, 
and  to  walk  till  one’s  ready  to  drop — and  then  one 
makes  one’s  lowest  bow,  d’ye  see,  and  blesses  one’s 
self  with  joy  for  the  honour !  ” 

He  it  was  who,  in  the  same  strain,  predicted  —  and 
truly  enough — what  her  sufferings  would  be  during 
the  winter. 

“  Wait  till  November  and  December,”  he  growled. 


LEARNING  HER  BUSINESS 


283 


“  Running  along  in  these  cold  passages  ;  then  bursting 
into  rooms  fit  to  bake  you ;  then  back  again  into 
all  these  agreeable  puffs !  Bless  us !  I  believe  in 
my  heart  there’s  wind  enough  in  these  passages  to 
carry  a  man-of-war !  And  there  you’ll  have  your 
share,  ma’am,  I  promise  you  that!  You’ll  get 
knocked  up  in  three  days,  take  my  word  for 
that.” 

Nothing  could  be  more  amusing  in  its  way  than 
the  same  gentleman’s  account  of  the  falling  off  in  the 
early  devotions  of  the  Royal  Household  with  the 
increasing  rigour  of  the  winter.  First  the  Queen 
ceased  to  attend  the  chapel,  he  said;  “the  Princess 
Elizabeth  is  done  for ;  then  Princess  Royal  begins 
coughing ;  then  Princess  Augusta  gets  the  snuffles, 
and  all  the  poor  attendants  drop  off,  one  after  another, 
like  so  many  snuffs  of  candles ;  till  at  last  dwindle, 
dwindle,  dwindle — not  a  soul  goes  to  chapel  but  the 
King,  the  parson,  and  myself ;  and  there  we  three 
freeze  it  out  together.” 

In  fact,  this  Colonel  Goldsworthy  is  one  of  the  most 
enlivening  characters  sketched  by  Miss  Burney  in 
this  part  of  her  Diary.  He  is  another  of  those  per¬ 
sons  who  might  be  transferred  bodily  to  the  pages 
of  a  fiction,  for  when  we  read  his  many  whimsical 
sayings,  we  feel  as  if  he  had  been  transferred  from 
the  pages  of  a  fiction  to  those  of  the  Diary.  In  a 
comedy  his  appearance  and  “  dialogue  ”  would  be 
sufficient  to  give  interest  to  any  scene.  What,  for 
instance,  could  be  more  comical  than  his  account  of 
his  attendance  upon  the  King  when  hunting? — 


284 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


“  Fagging  away  like  mad  from  eight  in  the  morning 
to  five  or  six  in  the  afternoon,  home  we  came,  looking 
like  so  many  drowned  rats,  with  not  a  dry  thread 
about  us,  nor  a  morsel  within  us — sore  to  the  very 
bone,  and  forced  to  smile  all  the  time ! — and  then, 
after  all  this,  what  do  you  think  follows  ? — ‘  Here, 
Goldsworthy,’  cries  His  Majesty,  so  up  I  comes  to 
him,  bowing  profoundly  and  my  hair  dripping  down 
to  my  shoes.  ‘  Goldsworthy,’  cries  His  Majesty. 

‘  Sir,  ’  says  I,  smiling  agreeably,  with  the  rheumatism 
just  creeping  all  over  me !  but  still  expecting  some¬ 
thing  a  little  comfortable,  I  wait  patiently  to  know  his 
gracious  pleasure ;  and  then,  ‘  Here,  Goldsworthy,  I 
say,’  he  cries,  ‘will  you  have  a  little  barley-water?’ 
Barley-water  in  such  a  plight  as  that!  Fine  com¬ 
pensation  for  a  wet  jacket,  truly  ! — barley-water !  I 
never  heard  such  a  thing  in  my  life !  barley-water 
after  a  whole  day’s  hard  hunting!” 

The  marvel  is  that  Fanny  Burney  had  not  sug¬ 
gested  to  her  the  ground-work  of  a  novel,  giving 
her  an  opportunity  of  making  use  of  some  of  these 
whimsical  characters  with  whom  she  came  in  contact. 
When  she  can  contrive  to  make  every  one  of  them 
live  and  breathe  the  breath  of  life  in  the  pages  of 
her  Diary,  how  could  she  have  had  any  difficulty  in 
accommodating  them  to  the  requirements  of  a  novel 
or  in  accommodating  a  novel  to  their  requirements  ? 
But,  as  it  was,  the  only  novel  which  she  wrote  after 
meeting  these  men  and  taking  notes  of  their  possibili¬ 
ties  for  such  a  work,  was  one  that  does  not  seem  to  us 
to  contain  a  single  character  of  any  vitality  comparable 


LEARNING  HER  BUSINESS 


285 


with  the  simplest  of  her  character-sketches  in  the 
Diary. 

The  only  explanation  that  occurs  to  us  of  what 
must  seem  to  a  good  many  readers  an  almost  in¬ 
explicable  neglect  of  an  obvious  chance  of  making 
use  of  good  material,  is  one  that  persons  of  delicacy 
of  feeling  but  devoid  of  the  instincts  of  a  novelist 
may  appreciate — namely,  good  taste.  Once  more 
Fanny  Burney’s  keen  sense  of  what  would  fall  short 
of  good  taste  compelled  her  to  lose  her  chance,  and 
we  are  deprived  of  a  novel  or  a  comedy  of  the 
century  which  might  have  surpassed  in  liveliness 
the  most  living  pages  of  Evelina  and  in  delicate 
colouring  the  most  natural  chapter  of  Cecilia. 
She  was,  however,  always  afflicted  with  that  form 
of  artificiality  known  as  good  taste — that  element 
which  has  interfered  from  time  to  time  with  the 
consummation  of  artistic  endeavour — and  even  her 
five  years  of  servitude  did  not  relieve  her  of  its 
promptings.  In  the  case  of  her  Diary  she  took 
good  care  that  the  onus  of  the  charge  of  bad 
taste  should  be  borne  by  the  individuals  who  made 
themselves,  by  the  use  of  it,  the  basis  of  the  most 
interesting  passages  that  it  contains  :  she  took  care 
that  the  blame  should  be  laid  on  their  shoulders, 
not  on  hers.  But  even  in  her  assuming  the  role 
of  the  simple  blameless  recorder  who  declined  to 
associate  herself  with  the  doubtful  sentiments  of 
some — all  too  few — of  her  friends,  she  conveys  to 
us  now  and  again  her  suspicion  that  some  one  might 
think  she  was  going  too  far.  She  had  no  idea  of 


286 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


the  mutability  of  the  canons  of  this  virtue  which  she 
cultivated  so  industriously — that  some  words  wdiich 
she  used  and  which  were  in  everyday  use  in  her 
century  would  be  thought  shocking  a  hundred 
years  later,  and  that  much  she  would  have  died 
sooner  than  discuss  should  become,  under  the  dis¬ 
guise  of  scientific  names,  the  most  ordinary  topics  of 
society  in  its  serious  moods. 

We  feel  that  she  is  not  quite  sure  that  she  was 
not  passing  the  limits  of  decorum  when  she  sets  about 
telling  one  of  the  most  charming  stories  in  the  whole 
of  her  Diary — that  relating  to  an  exchange  of  caresses 
between  the  King  and  Queen.  Only  in  her  own 
words  can  the  scene  be  described. 

“  The  Queen  had  nobody  but  myself  with  her 
one  morning,  when  the  King  hastily  entered  the 
room  with  some  letters  in  his  hand,  and  addressing 
her  in  German,  which  he  spoke  very  fast  and 
with  much  apparent  interest  in  what  he  said,  he 
brought  the  letters  up  to  her,  and  put  them  into 
her  hand.  She  received  them  with  much  agitation, 
but  evidently  of  a  much  pleased  sort,  and  endea¬ 
voured  to  kiss  his  hand  as  he  held  them.  He  would 
not  let  her,  but  made  an  effort,  with  a  countenance 
of  the  highest  satisfaction,  to  kiss  hers.  I  saw 
instantly  in  her  eyes  a  forgetfulness,  at  the  moment, 
that  any  one  was  present,  while  drawing  away  her 
hand  she  presented  him  her  cheek.  He  accepted 
her  kindness  with  the  same  frank  affection  that  she 
offered  it,  and  the  next  moment  they  both  spoke 
English  and  talked  upon  common  and  general 


LEARNING  HER  BUSINESS 


287 


subjects.  What  they  said  I  am  far  enough  from 
knowing ;  but  the  whole  was  too  rapid  to  give  me 
time  to  quit  the  room  ;  and  I  could  not  but  see  with 
pleasure  that  the  Queen  had  received  some  favour 
with  which  she  was  sensibly  delighted,  and  that  the 
King,  in  her  acknowledgments,  was  happily  and 
amply  paid.” 

It  is  in  the  relating  of  such  interesting  little  in¬ 
cidents  that  the  Diary  becomes  valuable  from  the 
standpoint  of  the  historian  as  well  as  from  that  of 
a  student  of  the  eighteenth  century. 


COMEDIES  OF  THE  COURT 


20 


. 


' 


' 


CHAPTER  XX 


COMEDIES  OF  THE  COURT 

THE  dread  and  fear  of  kings”  was  quickly- 
departing  from  Fanny  Burney’s  mind,  and 
after  that  experience  of  hers  which  we  have  just 
quoted,  its  place  was  certainly  taken  by  affection 
and  regard.  She  could  even  see  the  comedy 

elements  in  a  little  incident  of  which  a  short  time 
before  she  would  certainly  have  thought  with 
horror — nay,  she  could  even  write  to  her  father 
describing  it  (he  was  the  person  whom  it  concerned 
most  closely)  with  the  greatest  liveliness. 

The  Queen  sent  the  Princess  Elizabeth  for  her 
one  evening,  and  when  she  obeyed  the  summons, 
looked  smilingly  at  her,  saying  that  she  believed  Miss 
Burney  possessed  something  which  she  would  like 
to  borrow  from  her — it  was  a  copy  of  Dr.  Burney’s 
account  of  his  German  tour,  which  he  had  published 
thirteen  years  before  under  the  title  The  Present  State 
of  Music  in  Germany.  Her  Majesty  explained  that 
her  own  copy  was  at  Kew,  but  she  wished  the 
Princess  Elizabeth  to  read  the  book  without  sending- 
to  Kew  for  it.  Now  it  so  happened  that  the  copy 
which  Miss  Burney’s  father  had  presented  to  her  some 

291 


292 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


time  during  the  year  had  been  embellished  by  him 
with  sundry  underlinings  and  marks,  emphasising  the 
far  from  complimentary  passages  in  the  book  dealing 
with  the  German  people,  and  with  the  “uncouthness,” 
not  to  say  coarseness,  of  the  life  which  he  had  noted 
in  some  of  the  provinces.  It  may  be  remembered 
that  in  his  Animated  Nature  Goldsmith  had  adopted 
in  some  passages  the  same  line  of  comment ;  and 
Fanny,  remembering  the  underlinings,  felt  that  it 
would  never  do  to  allow  so  flagrant  a  proof  of  her 
father’s  lack  of  appreciation  of  a  nation  that  had 
sent  a  King  or  two  and  the  latest  Queen  to  Eng¬ 
land  to  pass  into  Royal  hands.  There  was  especially 
a  strongly  underlined  passage  dealing  with  German 
genius  in  Fanny’s  mind  at  the  moment,  and  if  Her 
Majesty  were  to  see  this,  “  'tis  all  over  with  us  for 
ever,”  she  thought.  So  she  hesitated  before  going 
to  fetch  the  book,  making  transparent  excuses  and 
causing  her  Royal  mistress  to  assure  her,  in  sub¬ 
stance,  that  it  should  be  returned  without  a  dog’s-ear 
or  a  thumb-mark. 

Nothing  was  left  for  the  apprehensive  daughter  of 
the  censor  of  German  manners  but  to  hasten  off 
for  the  evidence  of  his  guilt ;  but  she  was  mindful 
of  the  admonition  “  Festina  lente ,”  and  gave  herself 
time  to  collect  her  thoughts  and  elaborate  a  scheme 
of  defence.  But  nothing  better  occurred  to  her  than  to 
make  a  statement  to  the  Queen,  assuring  Her  Majesty 
that  the  marks  in  the  margin,  as  well  as  the  remarks 
in  the  text,  should  not  be  taken  au  pied  de  la  lettre — 
that  the  author  was  truly  repentant  in  regard  to  them, 


COMEDIES  OF  THE  COURT 


293 


and  that  he  fully  intended  in  his  next  edition  to 
correct  some  of  his  asperities  and  aspersions  upon 
all  German  matters  ;  but  she  admits  that  she  brought 
the  book  to  the  Queen  with  fear  and  consciousness  ; 
and  from  this  point  the  narration  assumes  the  form 
of  as  perfect  a  comedy  scene  as  may  be  found  in 
Augier  or  Sardou — perhaps  we  should  say  Labiche, 
for  it  certainly  has  a  soup$on  of  the  manner  of  Labiche 
at  his  best. 

The  soubrette,  still  withholding  the  volumes  from 
the  Queen,  glibly  suggested  that  she  should  carry 
them  off  at  once  to  the  Princess,  who  would  be  waiting, 
doubtless  in  great  impatience,  to  begin  her  reading  of 
them.  We  can  see  the  “  business  ”  of  the  moment — 
the  soubrette  holding  back  the  books,  her  mistress 
with  her  hand  outstretched  for  them — almost  touching 
them  at  times,  and  with  a  look  of  surprise  on  her 
face  as  she  fails  to  grasp  the  force  of  the  other’s 
insistence  that  they  should  go  to  the  Princess  without 
the  delay  of  a  moment.  And  then  what  a  natural 
bit  of  dialogue  : — 

“  Ma’am,  this  is  a  set  my  father  was  preparing  for 
some  amendment,  as  he  wrote  in  haste  and  with  the 
very  recent  impression  of  much  personal  suffering  and 
ill-usage  on  his  journey  ;  and  therefore  he  now  thinks 
that  he  was  led  to  some  rash  declarations  and  opinions 
which  he  is  earnest  to  correct - ” 

Followed  by  the  gracious  smiling  Queen  with — 

“  Indeed,  it  is  but  true  that  the  travelling  in 
Germany  is  very  bad  and  provoking  ” ! 

She  had  the  book  in  her  hand  at  last,  and  opening 


294 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


it,  read  aloud  a  passage  respecting  the  street  musicians 
at  Frankfort,  when — 

Enter  the  King. 

King  :  “  What  are  you  about  ?  What  have  you 
got  there  ?  ” 

Queen  ( after  Miss  Burney  has  coughed  and  given 
tokens  of  great  trepidation)'.  “ ’Tis  her  father’s  tour; 
I  wish  Elizabeth  to  read  it,  and  my  set  is  at  Kew.” 

King  :  “  Oh,  mine  is  here.”  [King  opens  volume 
and  reads  to  himself l) 

Miss  Burney  ( stammering  and  all  in  a  quiver) : 
“  Sir,  this  is  a  set  my  father  was  preparing  for  some 
amendment,  as  he  wrote  in  haste  and  with  the 
very  recent  impression  of  much  personal  suffering 
and  ill-usage  on  his  journey  ;  and  therefore  he  now 
thinks - ” 

King  [paying  no  attention  to  her ,  turns  to  first  page, 
and  reads  aloua)  :  “‘From  the  Author.’”  [Looks  at 
Miss  Burney  and  laughs  ;  she  also  laughs ,  hut  cheer¬ 
lessly). 

Queen  :  “  Here  are  marks  with  a  pencil.” 

Miss  Burney  ( visibly  affected ,  speaks  in  a  “  horrid 
hurry ”)  :  “Yes,  Ma’am;  those  are  only  of  places  to 
be  altered — but  my  father  would  be  very  sorry  your 
Majesty  should  look  at  what  he  gives  up  himself!” 

[The  Queen  at  once  turns  away  from  the 
book.  The  King ,  who  has  seen  some 
of  the  compromising  bits ,  looks  at  the 
trembling  Fanny  Burney  in  a 
“  wickedly  droll  way,"  then  turns  over 
the  leaves  with  suspicious  rapidity.) 


COMEDIES  OF  THE  COURT 


295 


King  ( reading ) :  “  Very  true  indeed,  and  very 
just  :  he  says  an  actor  and  a  singer  are  the  only 
people  never  allowed  to  have  a  cold  or  a  toothache. 
(To  Miss  Burney')  But  pray,  what  does  your  father 
send  you  this  set  for  ? — to  give  your  opinion  of  his 
alterations  ?  ” 

Miss  Burney  (“  turning  as  hot  as  fire  ”)  :  “  To  see, 
Sir,  what  places  he  meant  to  alter.” 

Queen  :  “  She  used  to  copy  for  her  father.  Indeed, 
I  think  her  father  has  a  great  loss  of  her.” 

King  :  “  And  who  copies  for  him  now  ?  ” 

Miss  Burney  ( demurely ) :  “I  don’t  know,  Sir.” 

King:  “Have  you  not  any  sisters  left  behind?” 

Miss  Burney:  “Yes,  Sir,  one  ;  but  she  has  been  so 
much  of  her  time  abroad  that  she  forgot  her  English, 
and  has  not  yet  recovered  it  sufficiently  for  such  an 
employment.” 

{All  are  solemn  :  no  one  smiles  at  the  notion 
of  a  young  zvoman  having  so  far  for¬ 
gotten  her  own  language  as  to  be  unable 
to  copy  the  words  that  she  sees  before 
her.) 

King  :  “  What  does  he  do  then  ?  ” 

Miss  Burney  :  “  I  fancy  he  copies  for  himself.” 

King  :  “  Suppose  he  should  send  any  to  you  here  ?  ” 

Miss  Burney  {her  sense  of  her  duty  to  her  father  in 
visible  conflict  with  her  sense  of  her  duty  to  her  Queen) : 
“  I — I  should  find  time  to  copy  it.” 

{Enter  Courtiers ,  who  announce  that  the 
concert  is  about  to  begin.) 

\Exeunt  omnes. 


296 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


Princess  Elizabeth  ( 'exultantly  to  Miss  Port ,  next 
day)  :  “I  am  going  to  read  Dr.  Burney’s  German 
Tour :  and  I  am  quite  delighted  that  I  have  Miss 
Burney’s  set,  with  all  the  marks  of  her  favourite 
passages !  ” 

Now  all  this  which  we  have  taken  the  liberty  of 
putting  in  the  form  of  a  play  is  contained  in  Fanny’s 
letter  to  her  father ;  and  it  will  be  seen  that  the 
dialogue  and  the  “  business,”  as  recorded  by  her, 
might  really  be  taken  from  a  scene  in  a  comedy. 

And  Fanny  Burney,  who  could  scarcely  have  failed 
to  perceive  this,  could  yet  refrain  for  years  from 
attempting  to  write  a  comedy,  because  she  had  been 
assured  that  her  first  essay  in  this  direction  stood  no 
chance  of  being  a  success  ! 

The  truth  is  that  it  would  really  be  difficult  to  find 
any  one  with  a  finensense  of  the  elements  of  comedy 
in  everyday  life  than  that  possessed  by  Fanny  Burney. 
She  relates  another  little  incident  that  took  place 
about  the  same  time  as  the  preceding,  which  illustrates 
her  appreciation  of  the  humour  of  a  situation  that 
might  not  be  apparent  to  every  one.  Mrs.  Delany  had 
become  so  accustomed  to  send  up  to  the  Lodge  for 
her  after  dinner  that  the  equerries  had  reason  to 
grumble  at  being  deprived  of  their  tea-maker ;  so  in 
order  to  recompense  them  she  determined  to  invite 
them  to  take  tea  with  herself  and  Fanny  at  her  house. 
It  was,  however,  a  tradition  of  the  Court  that  the 
equerries  should  never  leave  the  building  in  which  the 
King  remained  ;  but  one  evening,  on  receiving  Mrs. 


COMEDIES  OF  THE  COURT 


297 


Delany’s  invitation,  they  took  their  courage  in  both 
hands  and  went  off  after  Miss  Burney.  They  hoped 
to  get  back  before  they  were  missed  ;  and  the  moment 
they  arrived  they  began  to  discuss  what  would  happen 
if  their  absence  should  be  detected,  Colonel  Golds¬ 
worthy  being,  of  course,  especially  humorous  in  his 
conjectures.  The  King  would  never  believe  the 
report  that  he  was  not  at  hand,  he  affirmed,  but  would 
institute  a  search  through  the  rooms  it  order  to  find 
out  from  which  bedpost  he  had  hanged  himself — for 
nothing  less  than  such  an  act  of  desperation  could  give 
an  equerry  courage  to  absent  himself  without  leave. 

In  the  midst  of  the  merriment  that  followed  the 
door  was  knocked  at,  and  in  walked  the  Queen  and 
her  youngest  daughter !  The  silence  that  ensued 
gave  an  aspect  of  guiltiness  to  the  party.  Fanny, 
having  obtained  the  leave  of  her  mistress  to  visit  Mrs. 
Delany,  knew  that  she  had  nothing  to  feel  embarrassed 
about ;  but  it  seemed  possible  to  her  that  the  Queen 
might  think  that  she  had  induced  the  equerries  to 
accompany  her,  and  so  she  was  nervous  and  waited 
for  the  gentlemen  to  decide  whether  they  should  make 
humble  explanations  or  treat  the  matter  with  frank 
ridicule.  The  Queen,  however,  soon  set  them  at 
their  ease,  and  shortly  afterward  went  away.  The 
equerries  did  not  feel  greatly  inclined  to  remain  :  they 
must  have  looked  like  schoolboys  who  have  been 
discovered  out  of  bounds  by  the  headmaster. 

In  her  account  of  this  little  frolic  Fanny  manages  in 
a  few  skilful  touches  to  give  full  value  to  the  con¬ 
tretemps,  trifling  though  it  was,  at  the  entrance  of 


298 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


the  Queen,  and  by  her  omitting  to  report  a  single 
word  that  was  spoken  after  Her  Majesty  had  gone, 
to  suggest  the  gloom  that  was  the  result  of  these 
schoolboys  being  caught  in  flagrante  delicto . 

Beyond  a  doubt  Fanny  was  greatly  cheered  by  the 
drolleries  of  Colonel  Goldsworthy,  many  of  which 
she  records  with  great  glee — with  the  joy  of  a  maker 
of  stories  on  coming  upon  something  original.  The 
equerry  invited  the  whole  tea-room  to  have  supper 
with  him  some  night  in  his  town  house,  and  gave 
a  comic  account  of  his  manage — how  his  domestics 
had  accustomed  themselves  to  rule  him  and  how 
it  was  necessary  for  one  to  be  very  careful  how  one 
addressed  them.  He  warned  Miss  Planta  against 
saying  a  word  to  offend  a  maid  of  his,  “an  elderly 
person,  so  extremely  tenacious  of  her  authority  that 
she  frequently  took  up  a  poker  and  ran  furiously 
about  with  it,  after  any  of  her  fellow-servants  who 
thwarted  her  will.” 

So  he  went  on,  and  the  tea-room,  usually  so 
clouded  by  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg, 
must  have  echoed  with  laughter  that  could  only 
take  place  in  her  absence,  when  the  Colonel  told 
them,  apropos  of  the  mention  of  the  Bedchamber 
woman,  whose  name  was  Mrs.  Ariana  Egerton,  of  a 
page-boy  that  he  had  whose  name  was  Methusalem. 

“Pray,  what  do  you  call  him  for  short?”  asked 
Fanny. 

“Why,  ma’am,  that  was  a  great  difficulty  to  me  at 
first,”  he  replied.  “  Fd  have  called  him  Me,  for 
shortest,  but  I  thought  the  people  would  all  laugh  and 


COMEDIES  OF  THE  COURT 


299 


say,  *  Ah,  poor  gentleman !  it’s  all  over  with  him 
now  !  he’s  calling  himself  when  he  wants  his  man  !  ’ 
And  then  I  thought  of  Thusy.  Thusy  sounds  soft 
and  pretty  enough  ;  but  I  thought,  It  is  like  a  woman’s 
name — Susy  ;  to  be  sure,  thinks  I,  they’ll  all  suppose 
I  mean  one  of  the  maids;  and  then  again,  ‘Ah,’ 
say  they,  ‘  the  poor  gentleman’s  certainly  cracked ! 
nothing  else  would  make  him  behave  so  comical !  ’ 
And  then  I  thought  of  Lem.  But  it’s  quite  too  much 
for  me  to  settle  such  a  set  of  hard  long  names  !  ” 

He  ran  on  for  a  length  of  time  in  this  strain  of 
broad  comedy  monologue,  and  did  not  quit  it  even 
when  his  brother  officer  reminded  him  that  it  was 
time  for  them  to  put  in  their  attendance  at  the  usual 
concert. 

From  what  followed,  we  gather  that  the  concert 
was  a  function  to  which  the  ladies  of  the  suite 
were  not  admitted  unless  by  special  invitation.  The 
equerries  themselves  were  permitted  to  hear  the 
strains  of  Handel  as  the  illustrious  Caroline  heard 
the  administrations  of  her  chaplains — through  the 
half  open  door  of  the  room  beyond.  The  Queen 
sat  in  the  drawing-room,  while  the  privileged 
members  of  the  suite  remained  in  what  the  Colonel 
called  “  the  fiddling-room.” 

“There  I  go,”  he  complained;  “I  plant  myself 
against  the  side  of  the  chimney,  stand  first  on  one  foot, 
then  on  the  other,  hear  over  and  over  again  all  that 
fine  squeaking,  and  then  fall  fast  asleep,  and  escape 
by  mere  miracle  from  flouncing  down  plump  in  all 
their  faces  !  ” 


300 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


“What  would  the  Queen  say  if  you  did  that?” 

“  Oh,  ma’am,  the  Queen  would  know  nothing 
of  the  matter :  she’d  only  fancy  it  was  some  old 
double  bass  that  tumbled.” 

After  this  broad  comedy,  the  Diarist,  like  the 
true  artist  that  she  was,  introduces  a  very  mild  bishop, 
who  passes  the  obvious  compliments  upon  Miss 
Burney  and  her  delightful  tea-making,  and  smiles 
with  episcopal  cheerfulness  when  about  to  say  some¬ 
thing  quite  ordinary.  “  The  quietness,  with  the 
solidity  of  the  conversation,  joined  to  very  real 
reverence  of  the  bishop’s  piety,  made  this  evening 
more  tranquil  and  less  strained,”  the  artful  Miss 
Fanny  remarks  ;  but  she  is  artistic  as  well  as  artful, 
and  she  carefully  refrains  from  quoting  anything  of 
this  solid  conversation.  She  saves  her  readers  a 
deal  of  skipping. 

A  few  days  afterward  her  father  arrived  at  Windsor 
and  she  entertained  him  at  dinner,  after  which  the 
King  came  to  her  room  and  at  once  entered  into 
a  conversation  on  musical  matters  with  Dr.  Burney. 
During  the  interview  the  latter,  we  are  told,  being 
totally  unacquainted  with  the  forms  usually  observed 
in  the  Royal  presence,  and  so  regardless  or  thought¬ 
less  of  acquiring  them,  “  moved,  spoke,  acted  and 
debated,  precisely  with  the  same  ease  and  freedom 
that  he  would  have  used  to  any  other  gentleman 
whom  he  had  accidentally  met.” 

It  required,  however,  all  the  resourcefulness  of 
Dr.  Burney’s  daughter  to  find  a  right  moment  for 
presenting  the  Queen  a  short  time  afterward  with 


COMEDIES  OF  THE  COURT 


301 


a  poem  which  he  had  composed  for  her  birthday. 
The  poem  was,  she  thought,  very  pretty,  but  she  had 
a  certain  reluctance  in  going  straight  up  to  Her 
Majesty  to  say  that  Dr.  Burney  wished  it  laid  at 
her  feet.  She  apparently  kept  the  copy  of  verses 
in  her  pocket  ready  for  any  promising  opening,  and 
to  any  one  of  imagination  so  prepared  the  looked 
for  opportunity  is  certain  to  arrive.  Fanny  was  not 
disappointed.  The  very  day  after  she  received  it 
the  Queen  inquired  casually  if  Dr.  Burney  still  wrote. 
“  A  little,”  she  replied ;  and  when  she  next  came 
into  Her  Majesty’s  presence — it  was  when  her  birthday 
was  being  kept — immediately  after  delivering  her 
own  congratulations,  she  took  the  poem  out  of  her 
pocket,  saying : — 

“  I  told  your  Majesty  yesterday  that  my  father 
had  written  a  little  ! — and  here — the  little  is !  ” 

The  Royal  lady  received  the  tribute  with  a 
smile  and  a  curtsey,  and  the  daughter  of  the  donor 
ran  off. 

“  She  never  has  named  it  since,”  she  records ;  but 
whether  she  meant  this  reticence  to  be  accepted 
as  a  token  of  the  Queen’s  good-nature  or  her  lack 
of  critical  acumen  is  an  open  question.  We  do  not 
think  that  Fanny  had  any  great  confidence  in  her 
father  as  a  poet ;  but  considering  the  very  humble 
standard  reached  in  the  Birthday  Odes  of  the 
period,  and,  for  that  matter,  any  other  period,  it 
cannot  be  believed  that  Dr.  Burney’s  effort  in  this 
direction  was  any  less  worthy  of  being  accepted 
in  the  spirit  in  which  it  was  offered. 


302 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


The  Queen’s  Birthday  Ball  at  St.  James’s  Palace 
took  place  the  same  night,  and  as  Fanny  had  just 
recovered  from  an  illness  that  had  lasted  several 
days,  she  was  allowed  to  leave  the  ballroom 
“  after  the  second  country  dance  ”  ;  but  after  doing 
so  and  hurrying  to  the  room  where  the  company 
were  supposed  to  wait  while  their  carriages  or 
chairs  were  being  called,  that  wretched  manservant 
of  hers  who  had  caused  her  so  much  trouble  pre¬ 
viously  was  not  to  be  found.  She  sent  for  him, 
and,  going  downstairs,  had  his  name  called  outside 
and  also  the  names  of  her  chairmen  ;  but  all  to  no 
purpose.  She  felt  helpless  to  find  her  way  to  her 
own  apartment,  for  the  ballroom  was  separated 
from  it  by  avenues,  passages,  and  alleys,  of  which 
she  knew  nothing :  she  could  not  have  found 
her  way  through  them  all  even  in  broad  daylight, 
and  now  it  must  have  been  past  midnight  and  she 
was  still  in  her  ball-dress  and  wearing  the  Court 
feathers  on  her  head.  The  Palace  yard  was  wet 
with  recent  rain,  but  it  had  to  be  traversed,  though 
in  what  direction  she  knew  not. 

After  waiting  in  vain  close  to  the  outer  door,  she 
returned  to  the  room  upstairs,  hoping  that  her 
servant  would  yet  put  in  an  appearance.  A  young 
clergyman  offered  her  his  services,  and  at  last  a 
hackney  chair  was  procured.  When  she  got  in 
she  told  the  men  to  carry  her  to  the  Palace. 

“We  are  there  now,”  they  replied.  “What 
part  of  the  Palace  ?  ” 

They  had  asked  too  much  of  her.  She  had 


COMEDIES  OF  THE  COURT 


303 


always  gone  across  the  courtyard  in  her  own  chair 
and  had  been  deposited  at  the  door  without  trouble  ; 
but  she  had  not  the  least  idea  how  to  direct  these 
common  hackney  chairmen.  She  could  only  say, 
“  Near  the  Park.” 

“  But,  ma’am,  half  the  Palace  is  in  the  Park,” 
said  the  kindly  young  clergyman. 

“  I  don’t  know  how  to  direct,”  she  cried  in 
distress,  “  but  it  is  somewhere  between  Pall  Mall 
and  the  Park.” 

The  chairmen  were  equal  to  the  occasion. 

“  I  know  where  the  lady  lives  well  enough  ;  ’tis 
in  St.  James’s  Street,”  cried  one. 

“No,  no:  ’tis  in  St.  James’s  Palace,”  cried  the 
lady. 

“Up  with  the  chair!”  shouted  the  second  man. 
“  I  know  best — ’tis  in  South  Audley  Street ;  I  know 
the  lady  well  enough.” 

The  men  were  both  drunk  and  could  with  difficulty 
stand,  yet  they  insisted  on  lifting  their  poles  and  bear¬ 
ing  her  off  in  spite  of  her  shrieks  to  be  put  down,  and 
no  one  can  say  what  the  end  of  this  extraordinary 
adventure  would  have  been,  had  not  the  gallant 
and  reverend  young  man  come  to  her  rescue,  forcing 
the  men  to  put  her  down  and  then  escorting  her 
back  to  the  entrance  which  she  had  left,  the  fellows 
abusing  him  all  the  time. 

All  her  apprehension  was  that  she  should  not 
get  to  the  Queen  in  time  to  attend  upon  her  when 
retiring:  the  jewels  that  Her  Majesty  wore  were 
to  be  placed  in  her  hands  in  order  to  be  brought 


304 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


back  to  the  Queen’s  House,  the  present  Buckingham 
Palace.  But  what  was  she  to  do  to  avert  the  disaster 
that  threatened  her  if  she  failed  to  reach  her  rooms  ? 
She  was  clearly  now  in  such  a  condition  as  to  be 
glad  to  accept  any  suggestion,  and  when  the  young 
clergyman  put  her  into  the  chair  once  more  and 
bade  the  bearers  follow  him,  she  felt  quite  relieved 
— yes,  until  the  fellows  ran  the  poles  against  a  wall 
in  the  darkness,  for  they  had  entered  a  passage 
whence  there  was  no  outlet !  The  next  start  found 
them  confronted  by  sentries,  who  threatened  to  run 
their  bayonets  through  any  one  trying  to  pass  them. 
The  drunken  chairmen  shouted  that  they  wouldn’t 
be  stopped  ;  and  when  forced  to  release  their  burden, 
ran  after  her  and  her  clerical  escort  clamouring  to  be 
paid  half-a-crown  for  their  trouble.  He  refused  to  be 
so  imposed  upon,  but  poor  Fanny,  anxious  to  get 
rid  of  the  ruffians  at  any  price,  begged  of  him  to 
give  them  the  money,  and  he  did  so. 

Here  then  was  a  situation  worthy  of  being  devised 
by  the  author  of  Evelina  to  display  the  spirit  of 
one  of  her  heroines  and  the  resourcefulness  of  a 
young  and  handsome  hero,  not  necessarily  in 
clerical  attire ;  but  when  the  author  of  Evelina 
found  herself  in  it  she  failed  to  appreciate  its  artistic 
possibilities.  She  could  only  think  of  the  horror  of 
the  Queen’s  waiting  for  her  coming  to  remove  her 
feathers  and  to  receive  her  jewels,  and  waiting  in 
vain ! 

“  We  wandered  about,  Heaven  knows  where,  in  a 
way  most  alarming  and  horrible  to  myself  imaginable, 


COMEDIES  OF  THE  COURT 


305 


for  I  never  knew  where  I  was.  It  was  midnight. 
I  concluded  the  Queen  waiting  for  me.  It  was  wet. 
My  head  was  full  dressed.  I  was  under  the  care 
of  a  total  stranger,  and  I  knew  not  which  side  to 
take,  wherever  we  came.” 

At  last,  like  the  distressed  damsel  in  many  a 
romance,  modern  as  well  as  antique,  she  found 
herself  facing  an  open  door.  To  pass  through  was 
“the  work  of  a  moment” — one  adopts  the  language 
of  the  best  models  of  this  form  of  composition — 
and  then  she  was  confronted  by  a  gentleman  who  was 
a  stranger  to  her,  but  who  knew  her  name  and  offered 
to  conduct  her  to  the  Queen’s  apartments.  She 
accepted  his  offer  with  gratitude,  and  she  found 
that  she  was  just  in  time  to  save  her  credit  with 
the  Queen. 

And  how  about  the  real  hero  of  this  extraordinary 
adventure  ?  We  know  what  his  future  would  be 
in  any  well-balanced  romance  ;  and  we  are  convinced 
that  they  would  have  lived  happily  ever  after.  But, 
alas,  for  the  reality !  The  gentleman  played  his  part 
with  admirable  grace  :  he  called  the  next  day  to  in¬ 
quire  if  she  had  suffered  by  reason  of  the  very  trying 
night  she  had  spent  in  wandering  through  the  fast¬ 
nesses  of  St.  James’s  Palace  yard,  and  her  maid  told 
him  that  she  was  well,  and,  like  the  disinterested 
young  man  that  he  was,  he  declined  to  leave  a  card 
or  to  disclose  his  name — he  had  thought  her  name 
was  Mrs.  Haggerdorn,  having  heard  her  inquire 
for  Mrs.  Haggerdorn’s  room,  and  he  was  amazed 
to  learn  that  she  was  Miss  Burney. 

21 


306 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


But,  of  course,  they  met  again. 

He  was  the  young  clergyman  whom,  as  we  have 
already  mentioned,  she  recognised  a  short  time  after¬ 
ward  in  the  Robe-keeper’s  room  at  Windsor,  seeking 
to  be  appointed  to  a  better  living  than  the  small  one 
which  he  occupied,  and  trusting  to  the  interest  of 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  to 
be  extended  in  his  favour ! 

“  I  started,  and  so  did  he,”  wrote  Fanny  Burney, 
the  damsel  in  distress  whom  he  had  rescued  from  the 
dragons  in  the  form  of  hackney  chairmen. 

That  was  all.  He  made  no  attempt  to  play  the 
part  of  Perseus  in  respect  of  the  female  dragon  by 
whose  side  he  now  met  her,  and  we  leave  him 
standing  at  a  desk  reading  a  passage  from  Josephus, 
and  hoping  that  he  will  find  himself  in  a  snug  parson¬ 
age  when  he  gets  through  it. 


THE  TRAGIC  MUSE 


CHAPTER  XXI 


THE  TRAGIC  MUSE 

EARLY  in  the  same  year,  1787,  Fanny  thought 
it  well  to  have  a  thorough  understanding  with 
the  Queen  respecting  the  persons  whom  she  might 
be  permitted  to  invite  to  visit  her  when  in  Her 
Majesty’s  service ;  and  not  only  so,  but  also  in 
regard  to  the  extent  and  variety  of  her  acquaintances. 
She  made  excellent  resolutions  at  the  beginning  of 
the  year,  accepting  in  the  most  unreserved  way  what 
she  called  her  destiny,  and  now  she  showed  herself 
quite  prepared  to  act  in  accordance  with  this  spirit 
of  conforming  her  life  and  its  interests  to  the  existence 
she  expected  to  lead  to  the  end  of  her  days.  No 
renunciation  of  pomps  and  vanities  could  be  more 
absolute  than  that  which  she  was  prepared  to  make  at 
this  stage.  She  placed  herself  body  and  soul,  as  it 
were,  at  the  dictation  of  the  Queen.  Her  Majesty 
was  presented,  practically,  with  her  visiting  list,  and 
she  was  prepared  to  accept  without  a  murmur  whatso¬ 
ever  deletings  Her  Majesty  might  be  pleased  to  make 
of  her  friends.  She  proposed  to  form  no  connection 
and  make  no  acquaintance  unless  with  the  Queen’s 
consent,  nor  even  to  continue  those  already  formed 
but  by  the  knowledge  of  the  Queen.  “  And  I 

309 


310 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


entreated  her  leave,”  she  wrote,  “  to  constantly  men¬ 
tion  to  her  whomsoever  I  saw  or  desired  to  see,  that 
I  might  have  the  undoubted  satisfaction  of  a  security 
that  I  could  run  no  risk,  in  the  only  way  I  feared  it — 
that  of  ignorance.” 

These  suggestions  were  certainly  very  unlike  any 
that  would  have  come  from  the  independent  Fanny 
Burney  of  six  months  before,  and  they  showed  a 
spirit  of  submission  to  the  judgment  of  another  that 
would  be  accounted  extremely  laudable  had  it  been 
displayed  by  a  flighty  young  girl  going  into  domestic 
service  for  the  first  time ;  but  such  a  woman  as 
Fanny  Burney  had  shown  herself  to  be  by  her 
writings  and  by  her  friendships  should  have  reserved 
a  small  corner  of  her  soul  for  herself,  most  people 
of  to-day  will,  we  fancy,  think. 

The  Queen,  however,  accepted  her  suggestions  in 
the  most  gracious  spirit,  we  are  told — a  fact  which 
speaks  volumes  for  her  appreciation  of  the  spirit  that 
should  animate  a  useful  servant  ;  and  made  such 
kindly  comments  on  all  that  Fanny  had  said,  that 
the  latter  confesses  that  her  eyes  were  constantly 
filled  with  tears — indeed,  a  more  satisfactory  interview 
a  mistress  could  scarcely  hope  to  have  with  a  maid. 
Fanny  Burney  had  simply  adopted  the  Oriental 
attitude  of  tradition,  and  prostrating  herself  before  the 
Royal  chair,  had  placed  the  foot  of  the  occupant  upon 
her  neck. 

But  the  Queen  showed  herself  to  be  “  liberal  and 
noble-minded  ”  and  drew  tears  from  Fanny’s  eyes  “  in 
several  instances,”  and  nothing  could  be  more  satis- 


THE  TRAGIC  MUSE 


311 


factory  to  all  concerned,  except  perhaps  those  friends 
of  Miss  Burney’s  whom  she  could  no  longer  meet 
unless  by  Royal  permission. 

But  Miss  Burney  had  certainly  many  opportunities 
of  forming  new  friendships  from  outside.  It  will  be 
remembered  that  good  Mr.  Smelt  had  suggested, 
when  laying  before  her  the  many  advantages  of  the 
situation  that  he  came  to  offer  her,  the  opportunities 
she  would  have  of  doing  good  turns  to  her  family. 
No  such  favourable  chance  had  she  experienced, 
however,  unless  her  being  able  to  present  her  father’s 
Birthday  Ode  can  be  so  termed  ;  but  it  seems  that  the 
moment  she  took  up  her  duties  in  the  Queen’s  room 
she  had  been  beset  by  petitioners  begging  her  to  lay 
their  cases  before  Her  Majesty.  It  appears  to  have 
been  a  recognised  thing  that  the  ladies  of  the  Royal 
suite  should  be  petitioned  to  present  petitions,  and 
Miss  Burney  was  apparently  singled  out  for  this 
honour  by  a  large  number  of  people  whose  names  she 
had  never  heard  before. 

One  application  was  brought  under  her  notice  by 
Lady  Lumm  :  it  came  from  the  sole  survivor  of  “one 
of  the  old  English  noble  families  who  was  confined  in 
Exeter  for  debt.”  The  petition  was  prepared  and 
Fanny  laid  it  before  the  Queen,  who  thereupon 
informed  her  with  great  gentleness  that  she  had  done 
wrong  in  bringing  it  to  her,  and  that  of  the  many 
instruments  of  the  same  nature  which  she  had 
brought,  there  was  not  one  which  she  should  not  have 
refused  to  touch,  as  it  was  the  duty  of  the  Lord 
Chamberlain  solely  to  receive  them  and  deal  with 


312 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


them.  Miss  Burney  then  resolved  to  make  no  further 
attempts  to  play  the  patron,  but  she  seems  to  have 
broken  through  her  rule  more  than  once,  and  she  was 
certainly  successful  in  a  solitary  case.  In  another 
that  she  records — that  of  a  captain  in  the  army  who 
had  been  severely  injured  in  the  American  war — she 
found  herself  incapacitated  by  the  Queen’s  injunction  ; 
but  she  contrived  to  do  something  for  the  man  and 
his  daughter  out  of  own  pocket. 

Another  stranger  who  approached  her,  but  in  a 
rather  different  spirit,  was  an  Irishwoman,  who  wrote 
to  her  threatening  to  commit  suicide  unless  she  re¬ 
ceived  a  sum  of  money  forthwith.  Fanny  wrote  this 
person  a  long  letter  of  remonstrance,  pointing  out  how 
naughty  it  was  for  any  lady  to  talk  of  taking  her 
own  life ;  but  she  did  not  send  any  money,  even 
though  the  same  person  showed  that  she  valued  her 
counsel  by  staying  her  rash  hand  and  proposing  as  an 
alternative  to  employ  it  in  writing  a  novel.  The 
author  of  Evelina  did  not,  however,  prove  her  readi¬ 
ness  to  accept  the  suggestion  as  a  sign  of  true 
repentance,  and  the  correspondence  dropped  at  this 
point,  before  it  became  involved  in  the  discussion  of 
the  interesting  question  that  has  not  even  yet  been 
fully  dealt  with  by  experts  in  ethics,  whether  suicide 
is  not  advisable  rather  than  the  perpetration  of  a 
bad  novel. 

Fanny  Burney,  who  from  her  childhood  had  been 
an  ardent  playgoer,  must  have  felt  her  exclusion  from 
her  friends  on  the  stage  more  keenly  than  she  did 
her  exclusion  from  some  of  those  whom  the  Queen 


THE  TRAGIC  MUSE 


313 


may  have  eliminated  from  her  visiting  list.  She  had 
still,  however,  some  opportunities  for  theatre-going. 
The  King  and  Queen  had  never  been  enthusiastic 
patrons  of  the  drama,  and  by  the  time  Fanny  had 
entered  their  train  they  had  become  confirmed  in 
their  domesticity :  their  evening  concerts  at  Windsor 
represented  the  “  little  music  ”  after  the  high  tea 
of  the  modern  suburban  villa,  when  “a  few  friends” 
are  invited  to  partake  of  the  artistic  treat.  The 
Princesses  in  their  attitude  toward  the  turgid  tragedies 
of  the  period  seem  to  have  possessed  some  of  that 
spirit  of  irreverence  which  Goldsmith  may  have 
initiated  in  some  of  his  early  essays.  Fanny  records 
in  one  of  those  instantaneous  vignettes — we  can  think 
of  no  better  name  for  them — that  abound  in  her 
Diary,  how  the  Princess  Royal  and  her  sister  Augusta 
stood  at  the  door  of  her  room  one  day  after  talking 
to  Bryant,  and  began  to  make  fun  of  the  tragedy 
kings  and  queens  that  they  had  seen.  It  was  the 
younger  lady,  however,  who  affirmed  quite  gravely 
that  some  of  the  princesses  whom  she  had  seen 
on  the  stage  looked  quite  as  well  as  some  she  knew 
off  it.  It  was  the  brothers  of  these  happy  girls  who 
became  so  interested  in  the  personnel  of  the  con¬ 
temporary  stage  as  to  cause  them  to  extend  their 
patronage  even  to  the  artificial  plays  in  which  their 
favourites  appeared. 

Upon  one  interesting  occasion  in  1787  the  Junior 
Robe-keeper  was  in  a  box  with  “  the  whole  Royal 
Family  and  their  suite  immediately  opposite  me,” 
she  records.  The  play  was  an  improving  one, 


314 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


“  clever,  but  containing  a  dreadful  picture  of  vice 
and  dissipation  in  high  life.”  The  epilogue  was 
spoken  by  the  beautiful  and  highly  virtuous  Miss 
Farren — that  actress  who  has  been  held  up  to  admira¬ 
tion  as  a  pattern  of  prudence  because,  although  she 
was  engaged  to  the  Earl  of  Derby  for  twelve  years 
while  his  wife  was  alive,  she  never  ceased  to  behave 
as  she  should.  Fanny  was  leaning  forward  with 
her  lorgnette  directed  toward  this  actress  when  she 
was  sent  shrinking  back  into  the  box  on  the  delivery 
of  two  lines  : — 

“And  oft  let  soft  Cecilia  win  your  praise  ; 

While  Reason  guides  the  clue  in  Fancy’s  Maze.” 

What  the  lines  meant  exactly  only  an  expert  in 
eighteenth-century  epilogue  could  say,  but  they 
occurred  among  others  complimenting  the  lady 
writers  of  the  period,  and  there  is  no  mistaking  the 
allusion  to  the  most  favourite  novel  of  all  produced 
by  the  bevy  whom  the  writer  had  in  his  mind ; 
and  doubtless  a  good  many  people  in  the  house 
understood  it. 

But  the  springing  of  this  compliment  upon  the 
author  of  Cecilia  overwhelmed  her.  She  was  so 
astonished  and  ashamed,  she  says,  she  was  almost 
ready  to  take  to  her  heels  and  run,  “  for  it  seemed 
as  if  I  were  there  purposely  in  that  conspicuous 
place — 


“  ‘  To  list  attentive  to  my  own  applause.’  ” 


From  tit  pastel  thick  by  Ozlas  Humphrey , 


THE  TRAGIC  MUSE 


315 


To  such  a  point  as  this  may  self-consciousness 
carry  one. 

The  King  did  exactly  the  right  thing  in  the  circum¬ 
stances — Miss  Burney  was  not  too  greatly  overcome, 
nor  was  she  too  shortsighted  to  be  able  to  note 
his  attitude — for  he  laughed  heartily,  raised  his 
opera-glass  to  look  at  her,  and  the  Queen  following 
his  example,  soon  all  the  Royal  suite,  Princesses, 
attendants  and  Maids-of- Honour  were  scrutinising  her. 
Miss  Goldsworthy,  who  was  beside  her  in  the  front 
of  the  box,  alone  remained  with  her  eyes  on  the  stage  ; 
and  by  sitting  as  far  back  as  she  could  and  using 
her  fan  as  a  screen,  the  over-sensitive  Miss  Burney 
managed  gradually  to  compose  herself. 

Though  none  of  the  Royal  Family  spoke  to  her 
respecting  the  incident  for  some  days,  they  all  told 
Mrs.  Delany  that  they  were  sorry  for  the  confusion 
it  had  caused  her.  When  the  Queen  did  refer  to 
the  matter  to  her  it  was  only  to  say  : — 

“  I  hope,  Miss  Burney,  you  minded  the  epilogue 
the  other  night,”  meaning  possibly  that  she  hoped 
Miss  Burney  had  not  minded  it.  The  King  proved 
how  excellent  a  memory  he  had  for  a  trifling  detail, 
for  he  remarked,  “very  comically,”  Fanny  records: 
“  I  took  a  peep  at  you — I  could  not  help  that.  I 
wanted  to  see  how  you  looked  when  your  father  first 
discovered  your  writing — and  now  I  think  I  know.” 

Truly  an  admirable  apology  for  an  act  that  required 
none.  We  have  an  idea  that  if  the  allusion  to  Cecilia 
had  passed  altogether  unnoticed  the  author  would  have 
felt  more  greatly  mortified  than  she  had  felt  confused 


316 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


at  the  moment.  The  fact  of  the  King’s  remembering 
what  her  father  had  told  him  respecting  Evelina  was 
a  finer  compliment  than  that  paid  to  her  in  the 
disconcerting  couplet. 

It  is  worth  noticing  that  she  thought  so  little  of  the 
complimentary  couplet  that  she  did  not  even  give 
herself  the  satisfaction  of  gloating  over  it  in  the 
printed  copy  of  the  play  ;  had  she  done  so  she  would 
not  have  misquoted  it  as  she  did  in  her  Diary.  She 
says,  “  Imagine  what  became  of  my  attention  when  I 
was  suddenly  struck  with  these  lines,  or  something 
like  them  : — 

“  ‘  Let  sweet  Cecilia  gain  your  just  applause, 

Whose  every  passion  yields  to  Reason’s  laws.’  ” 

So  she  did  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  verify  her 
quotation!  It  was  Mr.  Austin  Dobson  who  did  so, 
and  thus  gave  us  another  insight  into  her  character, 
and  afforded  further  testimony  to  the  spontaneous 
way  in  which  she  “wrote  up”  her  Diary  for  the 
recreation  of  her  friends. 

Later  she  paid  a  visit  to  the  theatre  to  see  Mrs. 
Siddons  as  Portia,  but  previously  she  had  been 
deputed  by  the  Queen  to  receive  and  to  act  as  hostess 
to  the  great  actress — the  second  one  of  stupendous 
virtue  known  to  the  eighteenth  century.  Mrs.  Siddons 
was  stupendous  in  every  way,  but  emphatically  in  the 
matter  of  virtue.  She  came  to  Windsor  to  read  to  the 
Royal  Family,  and  the  play  selected  was  The  Provok' d 
Husband ,  a  piece  which,  when  read  nowadays,  does 
not  suggest  Mrs.  Siddons’s  doing  herself  justice  in  any 


THE  TRAGIC  MUSE 


317 


part.  But  that  is  possibly  because  we  have  formed 
our  opinion  of  her  capacity  from  our  knowledge  of  the 
parts  in  which  she  created  her  greatest  effects.  The 
two  supreme  exponents  of  the  art  of  acting,  David 
Garrick  and  Sarah  Siddons,  lived  during  the  second 
half  of  the  eighteenth  century  and  are  not  to  be 
judged  by  the  same  canons  that  apply  to  others. 
And  though  the  range  of  Mrs.  Siddons  was  much 
narrower  than  that  of  Garrick — that  is  to  say,  the 
range  of  parts  in  which  she  was  supreme — yet  it  is 
quite  possible  that  in  the  reading  of  a  play,  which 
she  would  be  bound  to  take  in  a  lower  key  than  she 
would  have  struck  if  representing  a  single  part  on  the 
stage,  she  would  achieve  as  great  a  success  as  Garrick 
would  have  done  under  the  same  conditions. 

We  should  like  to  be  able  to  refer  to  Fanny 
Burney  for  some  information  that  would  enlighten 
us  on  some  other  interesting  points  in  this  connection; 
but  unhappily  she  was  unable  to  make  any  record  of 
this  reading.  Only  the  Royalties  were  permitted  to 
be  in  the  room  with  the  reader  ;  the  members  of  the 
Household  were  allowed  to  find  any  place  they  might 
in  one  of  the  ante-rooms,  and  Miss  Burney,  having 
had  Mrs.  Delany  with  her  the  greater  part  of  the 
evening,  was  unable  to  arrange  matters  so  that  she 
might  at  least  have  heard  a  snatch  of  dialogue  filtered 
through  the  brocades  of  the  portiere. 

We  have,  however,  a  finished  record  of  her  impres¬ 
sion  of  Mrs.  Siddons  herself;  and  the  result  of  reading 
this  is  to  convince  us  that  Mrs.  Siddons  never  was 
herself,  even  when  the  smallest  audience  was  present  : 


318 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


she  was  always  Mrs.  Siddons  the  actress  —  Mrs. 
Siddons  as  The  Tragic  Muse  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 
She  took  herself  with  enormous  seriousness.  She  dis¬ 
liked  Garrick,  we  know  ;  but  she  must  also  have 
despised  him  because  he  was  always  ready  to  play 
the  fool  for  the  amusement  of  a  couple  of  children, 
or  to  imitate  Johnson  or  Boswell’s  imitation  of 
Johnson  until  every  one  present  was  convulsed,  or 
to  sit  on  the  knee  of  Oliver  Goldsmith  declaiming,  as 
no  man  that  ever  lived  could  declaim,  a  soliloquy  of 
Hamlet ,  while  the  Irishman  made  ludicrous  gestures 
with  his  arms.  That  was  Garrick’s  fun,  and  it  was 
despicable  in  the  eyes  of  the  stately  lady  who  was 
shown  into  little  Miss  Burney’s  room  to  enable  little 
Miss  Burney  (though  she  knew  it  not)  to  paint  her 
portrait  with  touches  so  decisive  as  to  allow  of  our 
seeing  her  as  plainly  before  us  as  we  do  when  we  stand 
before  Sir  Joshua’s  stately  portrait  or  Gainsborough’s 
noble  canvas,  over  which  he  swore  strongly  because 
of  the  length  of  the  lady’s  nose,  which  threatened  to 
spoil  a  picture  in  maintaining  the  portraiture.  Mrs. 
Siddons  strode  into  the  little  room  of  the  Junior  Robe- 
keeper,  not  knowing  that  she  was  going  to  sit  for  her 
portrait.  But  that  did  not  matter :  Mrs.  Siddons 
carried  herself  on  all  occasions  as  if  she  were  sitting 
for  her  portrait,  and  it  is  to  Fanny  Burney  we  are 
indebted  for  the  information. 

“  I  found  the  Heroine  of  a  Tragedy,”  she  wrote 
to  her  sister,  “sublime,  elevated,  and  solemn.  In 
face  and  person  truly  noble  and  commanding ;  in 
manners  quiet  and  stiff ;  in  voice,  deep  and  dragging ; 


THE  TRAGIC  MUSE 


319 


and  in  conversation,  formal,  sententious,  calm  and 
dry.  I  expected  her  to  have  been  all  that  is  interest¬ 
ing  ;  the  delicacy  and  sweetness  with  which  she  seizes 
every  opportunity  to  strike  and  captivate  upon  the 
stage  had  persuaded  me  that  her  mind  was  formed 
with  that  peculiar  susceptibility  which  in  different 
modes  must  give  equal  powers  to  attract  and  to 
delight  in  common  life.  But  I  was  very  much  mis¬ 
taken.  As  a  stranger  I  must  have  admired  her  noble 
appearance  and  beautiful  countenance,  and  have 
regretted  that  nothing  in  her  conversation  kept  pace 
with  their  promise  ;  and  as  a  celebrated  actress,  I  had 
still  only  to  do  the  same.” 

No  more  firmly  drawn  sketch — or  one  that  carries 
with  it  such  an  impression  of  accuracy  in  drawing, 
could  be  imagined.  After  so  admirable  an  analysis 
it  was  unnecessary  for  the  writer  to  enter  into  a  con¬ 
sideration  of  the  origin  of  any  quality  that  she  attri¬ 
buted  to  the  great  actress  :  she  was  well  aware  of  this 
fact,  and  was  content  to  observe  that  she  did  not 
know  whether  Mrs.  Siddons  had  been  spoiled  by  her 
fame  and  success,  “  or  whether  she  only  possesses  the 
skill  of  representing  and  embellishing  materials  with 
which  she  is  furnished  by  others.”  She  acknow¬ 
ledged  herself  to  be  disappointed  in  the  great 
actress. 

Being  a  conscientious  artist,  Fanny  Burney  refused 
to  allow  herself  to  abate  one  jot  of  what  she  believed 
to  be  a  faithful  record  of  the  impression  produced 
upon  her  by  her  stately  visitor,  although  the  latter 
had  said,  almost  the  moment  she  was  seated,  that 


320 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


“  there  was  no  part  she  had  ever  so  much  wished  to 
act  as  that  of  Cecilia.” 

Surely  the  creator  of  Cecilia  could  never  hope  to 
receive  a  greater  compliment  than  this.  She  never 
had  received  so  great  a  compliment ;  and  yet  there 
was  her  sketch  of  Mrs.  Siddons  as  Mrs.  Siddons 
appeared  to  her.  She  would  not  return  compliment 
for  compliment. 

And  then  she  gives  us  in  a  sentence  a  picture  of 
the  timid  Fanny  Burney  looking  with  something  akin 
to  awe  in  her  eyes  at  the  tranquillity  of  the  lady  who 
was  about  to  step  into  the  presence  of  Royalty  and 
be  the  central  figure  in  the  Royal  circle.  “  She 
appeared  neither  alarmed  nor  elated  by  her  summons,” 
we  are  told,  “  but  calmly  to  look  upon  it  as  a  thing  of 
course,  from  her  celebrity.” 

The  author  of  Cecilia ,  who  was  so  perturbed  by  the 
mere  allusion  to  herself  in  the  epilogue  to  a  play, 
must  have  been  ready  to  pray  to  the  Tragic  Muse  to 
be  granted  even  the  smallest  portion  of  her  spirit,  as 
she  watched  her  sail  past  the  lackeys  at  the  door  and 
down  the  corridor  into  the  Presence,  as  calmly  as  if 
she  were  only  going  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  man  of  genius, 
such  as  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

The  Royal  command  had  been  sent  to  Mrs.  Siddons 
through  the  Harcourts.  She  had  been  staying  with 
Mrs.  Harcourt — the  flippant  pouting  lady  who  had 
appeared  during  the  last  hour  of  Fanny’s  visit  to 
Nuneham — for  a  week,  and  when  the  summons  to 
the  Palace  came,  Mrs.  Harcourt  and  Mrs.  Gwyn — 
the  “  Jessamy  Bride  ”  of  Goldsmith’s  famous  rhyming 


THE  TRAGIC  MUSE 


321 


epistle — had  worked  their  hardest  to  fit  her  out  for 
this  appearance  of  hers  at  the  Queen’s  Lodge,  for  she 
had  brought  with  her  to  the  Harcourts’  only  ordinary 
clothes.  Mrs.  Siddons,  in  spite  of  her  stateliness,  did 
not  hesitate  to  tell  this  to  Miss  Burney. 


22 


THE  CARICATURIST 


CHAPTER  XXII 


THE  CARICATURIST 

IT  was  altogether  a  very  interesting  evening  for 
Miss  Burney,  for  though  she  did  not  go  to  hear 
the  reading,  the  proximity  of  Mrs.  Siddons  suggested 
a  theatrical  causerie  when  the  equerries  were  having 
tea  in  her  room.  The  Duke  of  York  was  staying 
at  Windsor  and  had  brought  with  him  his  equerry, 
who  was  none  other  than  Mr.  H.  W.  Bunbury,  one 
of  the  best  caricaturists  of  the  day,  and  a  gentleman 
of  fashion  besides.  He  chatted  incessantly  with 
Fanny  on  the  subject  of  plays  and  players — Mrs. 
Siddons,  Mrs.  Jordan,  Le  Tessier  and  Shakespeare — 
all  were  touched  upon  by  him  in  turn  ;  and  when 
the  voice  of  the  Duke  of  York  was  heard  calling  down 
the  corridor  for  Colonel  Goldsworthy,  off  that  gentle¬ 
man  hurried,  but  Mr.  Bunbury  would  not  be  hurried. 
He  continued  chatting.  He  did  not  mind  losing 
the  beginning  of  the  play — “  I  think  I  know  it  pretty 
well  by  heart,”  he  said.  And  then  he  began  to  quote 
from  the  opening  scene — “  ‘  Why  did  I  mariy  ?  ’  ” 
acting  and  rattling  away  until  the  voice  of  the 
Duke  of  York  sounded  once  more — “  Bunbury,  you’ll 
be  too  late !  ”  and  off  he  rushed  without  waiting  to 
drink  the  tea  which  had  been  poured  out  for  him. 

325 


326 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


At  this  time  Bunbury  and  Colonel  Gwyn  were 
together  at  the  Queen’s  Lodge,  the  one  in  attendance, 
as  has  just  been  mentioned,  upon  the  Duke  of  York, 
who  had  just  come  to  England  after  an  absence  of 
seven  years  in  Holland,  and  the  other  upon  the  King. 
The  two  men  had  married  sisters,  the  beautiful  Miss 
Hornecks.  Catherine,  the  elder,  was  the  “  Little 
Comedy  ”  of  the  rhymed  epistle  of  Goldsmith,  and  the 
wife  of  Bunbury,  the  other  was  Mary,  the  “  Jessamy 
Bride.”  They  were  both  handsome  girls — Fanny 
Burney  scarcely  ever  mentions  Mrs.  Gwyn  without 
an  allusion  to  her  beauty  ;  and  there  is  the  valuable 
testimony  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s  canvases  to  bear 
out  her  judgment  on  this  point.  He  painted  the 
sisters  separately  and  afterward  together.  They 
were  both  devoted  to  Goldsmith,  and  during  the  last 
years  of  his  life  he  was  constantly  in  their  company, 
going  with  them  and  their  mother  on  their  tour  through 
France — Goldsmith’s  autograph  letter  to  Reynolds 
relating  to  this  was  sold  last  June  ( 1 9 1 1 )  for  ^280 
-—and  subsequently  being  their  guest  at  the  Bunburys’ 
house  at  Barton,  in  Norfolk.  When  the  news  of  the 
poet’s  last  illness  reached  them  they  hurried  away  to 
his  bedside,  but  were  too  late  to  see  him  alive.  He 
had  actually  been  put  into  his  coffin,  but  they  caused 
the  lid  to  be  removed,  and  after  taking  a  last  look  at 
his  homely  features,  his  “Jessamy  Bride”  cut  off 
a  lock  of  his  hair,  which  she  carried  with  her  set  in 
gold  until  her  death.  The  locket  with  this  relic  was 
sold  at  Christie’s  in  the  year  1899. 

When  Bunbury  arrived  at  Windsor  with  the  Duke 


THE  CARICATURIST 


327 


of  York  he  had  been  married  for  sixteen  years.  So 
soon  as  it  was  understood  that  he  was  coming,  there 
was  a  considerable  fluttering  among  the  members 
of  the  Household.  They  had  a  great  respect  for  his 
powers  as  a  caricaturist,  and  many  of  them  seemed  to 
believe  that  he  would  pay  them  the  compliment 
of  “  taking  them  off.”  There  was,  however,  one 
notable  exception  to  those  who  feared  his  exercise  of 
his  skill  at  their  expense.  This  was  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg.  She  was  confident  that  no  one  could  see 
anything  about  her  to  invite  caricature.  “  I  have  no 
hump,”  she  cried  triumphantly,  when  the  others  were 
in  trepidation.  They  must  have  looked  at  her 
queerly  when  they  heard  the  boast.  It  was  not  the 
hump,  but  the  horns,  that  they  knew  Bunbury  would 
endow  her  with  if  he  were  as  well  acquainted  with  her 
as  they  were.  It  would  be  interesting  to  go  through 
Bunbury ’s  drawings  and  etchings  to-day  with  a  view 
of  identifying  some  of  these  people  whom  he  “  took 
off”  in  his  own  way.  We  know  how  admirably  he 
reproduced  Oliver  Goldsmith,  exaggerating  only  such 
peculiarities  of  his  face  as  suggested,  with  a  force  that 
no  student  of  humour  could  resist,  such  treatment. 
Bunbury  had  a  light  touch,  and  nothing  of  the 
grossness  of  Gillray  or  the  repulsiveness  of  Rowland¬ 
son.  He  may  be  accounted  the  originator  of  the 
modern  art  of  caricature.  There  are  still  a  few 
artists  who  maintain  the  traditions  of  Gillray  and  try 
to  raise  a  laugh  at  the  protuberant  paunch  and  the 
putting  of  a  swine’s  snout  on  a  human  face,  but  the 
majority,  as  we  know,  achieve  more  memorable  effects 


328 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


by  the  daintier  methods  that  mark  the  combination  of 
the  true  observer  and  the  true  humorist. 

We  know  what  Bunbury  was  as  an  artist,  and  the 
Diary  gives  us  Fanny  Burney’s  impression  of  him 
as  a  man.  A  good  deal  which  she  tells  us  she 
found  to  his  detriment  does  not  affect  us  in  the 
same  way.  She  thought  that  his  conversation 
was  too  easy  and  that  his  principles,  as  he  ex¬ 
pounded  them  gaily,  were  deficient  in  rectitude. 
He  was  also,  she  feared,  incautious  in  his  criticism 
of  the  people  about  them,  though  she  hastens  to 
affirm  in  his  favour  that  he  had  nothing  but  good 
to  say  about  the  Duke  of  York.  One  can  quite 
understand  how  shocked  the  discreet  Miss  Burney 
must  have  been  at  the  frank  opinions  expressed  by 
the  artist,  and  at  his  failing  to  lower  his  voice  to  a 
whisper  of  awe  when  he  referred  to  some  of  the 
members  of  the  Royal  Family  and  their  ways.  But 
we  find  ourselves  wishing  most  heartily  that  she  had 
seen  her  way  to  borrow  a  little  of  his  incautiousness  in 
this  direction  ;  for  in  reading  her  accounts  of  many 
matters  relating  to  the  Royalties  we  are  always 
wondering  how  much  she  kept  back.  He  spoke  with 
“  an  innate  defiance  of  consequences,”  she  tells  us, 
and  that  is  exactly  how  we  should  like  her  to 
have  written. 

Bunbury  was  ready  to  talk  about  the  theatre  from 
morning  to  night.  “  He  acts  as  he  talks,”  Fanny 
records,  “and  seems  to  give  his  whole  soul  to 
dramatic  feeling  and  expression.  Love  and  romance 
are  equally  dear  to  his  discourse,  though  they  cannot 


THE  CARICATURIST 


329 


be  introduced  with  equal  frequency.  Upon  these 
topics  he  loses  himself  wholly — he  runs  into  rhap¬ 
sodies  that  discredit  him  at  once  as  a  father,  a 
husband,  and  a  moral  man.  He  asserts  that  love 
is  the  first  principle  of  life,  and  should  take  place 
of  every  other ;  holds  all  bonds  and  obligations  as 
nugatory  that  would  claim  a  preference ;  and  advances 
such  doctrines  of  exalted  sensations  in  the  tender 
passion  as  made  me  tremble  while  I  heard  them.” 

Now  we  must  confess  that,  just  as  the  good  Dr. 
Watts’s  vivid  account  of  the  sluggard  forces  us  to 
envy,  and  to  make  up  our  minds  to  do  our  best  to 
follow  the  example  of  the  person  held  up  for  our 
reprobation,  so  we  are  led  to  believe,  from  Miss 
Burney’s  shaking  of  her  head  at  Bunbury,  that  he 
was  both  a  brilliant  man  and  an  original  thinker. 
The  want  of  regularity  in  his  mode  of  thought  she 
should  have  known  to  correspond  with  the  motions  of 
a  comet ;  and  her  acquaintance  with  the  irregularities 
of  such  a  body  must  have  convinced  her  that  it  is  these 
irregularities  that  make  it  much  more  interesting  than 
a  fixed  star.  In  the  estimation  of  the  astronomer  a 
comet  is  just  as  much  a  “  heavenly  body  ”  as  his  Alpha 
Ursa  Minor ,  whose  variations  are  too  insignificant 
to  be  registered  except  in  the  Nautical  Almanac . 

She  makes  us  understand  that  Bunbury  was  a 
brilliant  man,  who,  in  spite  of  his  equerryship, 
excepted  his  soul  from  his  service  to  Royalty,  and 
did  not  bind  himself  to  speak  in  whispers.  We  have 
no  difficulty  in  perceiving  this  from  Miss  Burney’s 
remarks  in  regard  to  his  admiration  or  affected 


330 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


admiration  for  The  Sorrows  of  Werther — he  adored 
the  book,  she  tells  us,  and  would  scarcely  believe  that 
she  had  not  read  it — still  less  that  she  had  begun  it 
and  left  it  off  “from  distaste  at  its  evident  tendency.” 
“  I  saw  myself  sink  instantly  in  his  estimation,”  she 
adds  ;  “  though  till  this  little  avowal  I  had  appeared 
to  stand  in  it  very  honourably.” 

Of  course,  no  one  can  have  the  least  difficulty  in 
perceiving  that  the  caricaturist,  having  taken  the 
measure  of  this  prudent  Miss  Burney,  magnified  her 
excellent  quality  by  his  art  until  it  became  prudish¬ 
ness,  and  then  proceeded  to  shock  it,  even  pretending 
that  she  had  fallen  in  his  estimation  because  she  told 
him  she  thought  that  Werther  had  a  dangerous 
tendency.  We  have  a  suspicion  that  Mr.  Bunbury 
would  have  found  as  congenial  a  task  in  caricaturing 
the  sentimentalities  of  Werther  as  did  his  brother 
caricaturist  (on  the  literary  side  of  the  art)  who  saw 
his  chance  when  the  lady  “  went  on  cutting  bread  and 
butter.” 

We  have  also  an  impression  that  if  Bunbury  had 
remained  in  her  vicinity  for  longer  Fanny  would  have 
found  her  life  easier  ;  she  might  also  have  seen  her 
way  to  put  into  practice  some  of  those  schemes  of 
rebellion  against  the  traditions  of  the  Queen’s  Lodge 
which  she  was  meditating  during  her  first  year,  but 
which  she  had  never  quite  enough  daring  to  carry  out. 
But  we  are  certainly  indebted  to  her  for  a  thoughtful 
sketch  of  an  interesting  man. 

It  is  amusing  to  note  the  consternation  that  came 
upon  the  ordinary  members  of  this  commonplace 


THE  CARICATURIST 


331 


Household  when  their  stagnation  was  threatened  by 
the  sudden  descent  of  Brains  in  their  midst.  They 
looked  with  suspicion  upon  the  arrival  of  Fanny 
Burney  the  writer,  foreseeing  the  possibility — they 
flattered  themselves  into  believing  it  to  be  a  certainty 
— that  they  should  be  “put  into  a  book  ”  ;  and  when 
Bunbury  flashed  in  upon  them  they  expected  that  he 
would  have  out  his  pencil  in  a  moment  and  “take 
them  off.”  The  amusing  thing  too,  in  this  connection, 
is  that  it  was  the  men  who  were  afraid  of  Miss 
Burney  and  the  women  who  were  apprehensive  of 
Mr.  Bunbury.  Happily,  however,  the  threatened 
danger  passed  away  ;  the  duplex  terror  ceased  to  cast 
its  shadow  over  the  Household.  The  Duke  of  York, 
his  parents’  joy,  hurried  off  to  the  discharge  of  those 
military  duties  which  gradually  developed  into  those 
of  Commander-in-Chief  (discharged  with  such  unusual 
incompetence  as  entitled  him  to  a  memorial  column)  ; 
and  he  took  with  him  his  dangerous  equerry  ;  and 
Fanny  Burney  had,  it  was  thought,  given  up  putting 
any  of  her  associates  into  books,  having  given  up 
writing  books  altogether  ;  so  once  more  stagnation 
was  able  to  hold  its  sway,  none  making  it  afraid. 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  any  of  the  humdrum 
Household  should  be  as  shrewd  as  Walpole  in  fore¬ 
seeing  the  Diary  that  should  immortalise  them — the 
equerries,  the  Ladies-in-Waiting,  the  Readers  and  the 
chaplains.  Of  the  last  named  the  least  apprehensive, 
we  are  sure,  was  the  Rev.  Dr.  Shepherd,  who 
was  Canon  of  Windsor  and  “  Master  of  Mechanics  ” 
to  the  King — there  seemed  to  be  no  end  of  strangely 


332 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


styled  officials.  No  doubt  this  person  discharged  his 
duties  mechanically  enough,  as  one  would  expect  from 
a  chaplain  of  long  standing ;  but  what  his  actual 
qualifications  were  that  entitled  him  to  be  called  a 
Master  we  are  not  informed.  He  was,  however,  an 
F.R.S.  He  may  have  become  so  in  consequence  of 
his  mastership,  or  he  may  have  obtained  his  appoint¬ 
ment  because  of  his  fellowship.  At  any  rate,  he  was 
the  man  to  get  on  in  the  world  ;  or  if  he  failed,  it 
would  not  be  by  reason  of  any  diffidence  on  his  part 
lest  he  might  not  be  able  to  fill  any  post  with  great 
advantage  to  his  employers. 

He  found  out  Fanny  during  the  exciting  week  of 
the  Duke  of  York’s  visit,  and  paid  her  an  interminable 
visit,  dilating  on  his  own  perfections  more  floridly 
and  more  flagrantly  than  a  man  in  a  farce,  and 
giving  her  the  story  of  his  life,  assuring  her  that  she 
could  not  but  be  delighted  to  hear  it,  especially  as 
he  had  got  everything  “  by  his  own  address  and 
ingenuity.”  We  have  not  time  to  talk  of  address 
and  ingenuity  nowadays  :  we  simply  call  the  combina¬ 
tion  of  the  two  “  cheek.” 

“  I  could  tell  the  King  more  than  all  the  Chapter,” 
he  assured  her  blandly.  “  I  want  to  talk  to  him,  but 
he  always  gets  out  of  my  way.  [The  wise  King  !] 
He  does  not  know  me.  He  takes  me  for  a  mere 
common  parson,  like  the  rest  of  the  canons  here,  and 
thinks  of  me  no  more  than  if  I  were  only  fit  for  the 
cassock — a  mere  Scotch  priest !  Bless  ’em — they, 
know  nothing  about  me.  You  have  no  conception 
what  things  I  have  done !  And  I  want  to  tell  ’em  all 


THE  CARICATURIST 


333 


this — it’s  fitter  for  them  to  hear  than  what  comes  to 
their  ears.  What  I  want  is  for  somebody  to  tell  them 
what  I  am.” 

Fanny  proves  by  what  she  wrote  of  him  that  he 
could  hardly  have  come  to  any  one  more  competent 
to  discharge  such  a  duty;  but  it  is  doubtful  if  he  would 
have  been  satisfied  at  the  result  of  her  doing  so.  She 
herself  did  not  think  the  task  necessary.  “  They 
know  it  already,”  was,  she  tells  us,  what  she  thought, 
before  he  went  on  from  his  general  panegyric  to  refer 
to  his  own  preaching,  which  he  assured  her  would  be 
just  to  her  taste — he  went  so  far  as  to  threaten  her 
with  a  sermon  when  he  should  be  next  in  residence. 

“  I  think  I  preach  in  the  right  tone,”  he  went  on, 
“not  too  slow,  like  that  poor  wretch  Grape,  nor 
too  fast,  like  Davis  and  the  rest  of  ’em  ;  yet  fast 
enough  never  to  tire  them.  That’s  just  my  idea 
of  good  preaching.” 

He  was  very  desirous  for  her  to  visit  his  apart¬ 
ments  ;  but  she  was  compelled  to  disappoint  him 
in  this  particular.  It  would  be  interesting  to  know 
on  what  grounds  the  amiable  Mrs.  Schwellenberg, 
a  few  months  later,  assured  Fanny  that  if  she,  Fanny, 
played  her  cards  well  this  Dr.  Shepherd  would 
marry  her.  He  only  wanted  a  little  encouragement, 
she  said  in  her  own  way.  But  Fanny  somehow 
had  self-control  enough  to  resist  the  dazzling 
prospect  of  being  in  such  a  position  as  would  enable 
her  to  judge  whether  or  not  the  gentleman  overrated 
his  own  excellences. 

It  was  the  happy  visit  of  the  Duke  of  York  that 


334 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


brought  about  a  rapprochement  between  the  Prince 
of  Wales  and  his  Royal  parents.  But  Fanny  Burney 
is,  of  course,  too  prudent  to  do  more  than  lament  the 
estrangement  and  rejoice  at  its  termination.  She 
does  not  waste  many  pages  over  the  Heir  Apparent. 
He  had  done  his  best  to  emulate  the  family  tradition 
by  quarrelling  with  his  father  at  the  earliest  oppor¬ 
tunity.  He  had  begun  early  to  study  for  that 
profession  of  profligacy  of  which  he  remained  for 
many  years  the  most  distinguished  exponent ;  and 
before  Fanny  Burney  had  come  to  Windsor  he  had 
married  Mrs.  Fitz Herbert,  and  was  living  with  her 
at  Brighthelmstone.  The  poor  King,  who  had 
caused  the  celebrated  Marriage  Act  to  be  passed  in 
1771  for  the  protection  of  his  brothers,  found  its 
machinery  powerless  to  save  his  own  son  from  a 
far-reaching  indiscretion. 

It  was  only  within  the  province  of  the  literary 
Robe-keeper,  however,  to  refer  to  His  Royal 
Highness  in  so  far  as  the  estrangement  had  a  bearing 
upon  her  mistress  ;  and  she  contrives  to  introduce 
a  note  of  pathos  into  a  very  unpromising  theme  when 
she  describes  how  Her  Majesty  one  day  read  to  her 
aloud  a  paper  in  the  Tatler  about  “a  young  man  of  a 
good  heart  and  sweet  disposition  who  is  allured  by 
pleasure  into  a  libertine  life  which  he  pursues  by 
habit,  but  with  constant  remorse,  and  ceaseless  shame 
and  unhappiness.” 

The  Queen’s  eyes  were  glistening  while  she  read, 
and  the  sympathetic  Miss  Burney  could  not  fail  to 
understand  how  the  mother  believed  that  the 


THE  CARICATURIST 


335 


description  applied  with  marvellous  accuracy  to  her 
eldest  son.  It  required  the  accommodating  vision 
of  a  mother  to  see  the  resemblance  between  the 
soft-hearted  young  amateur  libertine  and  the  heartless 
Prince  who  was  a  professional  roud  before  he  was 
twenty-five.  Her  thoughts  may,  however,  have 
reverted  to  his  boyish  escapades  with  no  more  harm 
in  them  than  the  ruin  of  his  pretty  Perdita. 

The  Prince  came  to  Windsor  to  meet  his  brother, 
and  his  father  fell  on  the  neck  of  the  prodigal  and 
kissed  him  ;  the  whole  Household  rejoiced,  and  no 
doubt  a  joint  of  veal  figured  at  the  head  of  every 
dinner-table  in  the  building. 

Fanny  saw  him  occasionally  at  this  time.  Once 
he  came  suddenly  in  upon  her  when  she  was  with 
Mrs.  Delany,  and  described  to  her  his  villa  at 
Brighthelmstone,  telling  several  anecdotes  of  his 
adventures  there.  He  seemed,  she  says,  anxious 
to  entertain  Mrs.  Delany  and  her  niece.  Beyond  a 
doubt  an  account  of  some  of  his  adventures  at 
Brighthelmstone  could  be  made  entertaining ;  but 
His  Royal  Highness  probably  tempered  the  enter¬ 
taining  features  of  such  as  he  narrated  to  the  ear 
of  a  lady  of  eighty-seven.  Had  he  confided  to  any 
extent  in  Miss  Burney  she  would  have  been  com¬ 
pelled  to  summon  to  her  side  the  brother  of  her 
friend  Miss  Bowdler  to  prepare  the  record  for  publi¬ 
cation  on  the  lines  he  adopted  in  his  Family 
Shakespeare. 

Later,  when  she  was  with  the  Queen  one  night, 
he  thumped  at  the  dressing-room  door  with  such 


336 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


violence  that  Fanny  thought  he  had  come  with  some 
dreadful  news ;  but  he  explained  that  he  had  only 
looked  in  to  mention  that  some  beautiful  Northern 
Lights  were  visible  and  to  advise  his  mother  to  look 
at  them  through  the  gallery  windows. 


THE  PAGEANT  OF  IMPEACHMENT 


23 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


THE  PAGEANT  OF  IMPEACHMENT 

IT  was  in  November,  1787,  that  some  of  the  news¬ 
papers  began  to  busy  themselves  about  Miss 
Burney.  Her  father  brought  her  a  paragraph  that 
appeared  in  the  World  to  the  effect  that  she  had 
resigned  her  place  about  the  Queen  and  had  been 
promoted  to  attend  the  Princesses — “  an  office  far 
more  suited  to  her  character  and  abilities,  which  will 
now  be  called  forth  as  they  merit.” 

As  that  paper  was  not  taken  in  by  the  Royal 
Family  she  flattered  herself  that  the  paragraph 
would  escape  notice  ;  but  the  very  next  day  she 
learned  that  every  one  was  speaking  of  it,  though  a 
second  paragraph  had  appeared  to  the  effect  that 
the  announcement  was  premature.  The  Queen  in¬ 
troduced  the  subject  the  same  night,  and  being 
interrupted,  returned  to  it  the  night  following,  when 
Fanny  assured  her  that  so  far  from  having  a  wish  for 
such  promotion  as  was  mentioned  in  the  paragraph, 
Her  Majesty  did  not  bestow  a  smile  upon  her  that 
did  not  confirm  and  secure  her  attachment ;  and  they 
separated  on  such  affectionate  terms  that  Fanny 
cried  out  when  alone  : — 

“  Oh,  were  there  no  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  !  ” 

339 


340 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


(It  was  on  the  very  next  day  that  her  eyes  were 
frightfully  inflamed  by  Mrs.  Schwellenberg’s  brutality 
in  refusing  to  allow  the  carriage  window  to  be 
pulled  up.) 

But  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  paragraph 
in  the  World,  though  unofficial,  and  without  founda¬ 
tion,  represented  what  a  good  many  people  were 
saying  on  the  subject  of  Miss  Burney  and  her 
“  place  ” ;  and  before  a  year  had  passed  another 
newspaper  was  making  free  with  her  name. 

“The  literary  silence  of  Miss  Burney  at  present 
is  much  to  be  regretted,”  said  a  paragraph.  “No 
novelist  of  the  present  time  has  a  title  to  such  public 
commendation  as  that  lady  ;  her  characters  are 
drawn  with  originality  of  design  and  strength  of 
colouring ;  and  her  morality  is  of  the  purest  and 
most  elevated  sort.” 

This  panegyric  was  very  distasteful  to  the  lady 
to  whom  it  referred.  All  her  thoughts  at  that  time 
were  directed  to  averting  the  wrath  of  her  oppressor 
— to  endeavouring  to  give  her  vile  temper  and 
abominable  nature  no  chance  of  being  aroused ;  and 
she  knew  that  any  word  that  was  spoken  or  written 
reflecting  favourably  upon  herself  meant  an  outburst 
of  envious  passion  on  the  part  of  that  hag  ;  and 
just  then  the  Schwellenberg  volcano  was  in  a  state 
of  such  sensitiveness  that,  as  the  flinging  of  a  stone 
into  the  crater  of  a  volcano  that  is  temporarily 
quiescent  may  cause  an  outburst,  the  smallest  inci¬ 
dent  would,  Fanny  knew,  be  sufficient  to  produce 
an  eruption  of  violence  and  abuse.  This  knowledge 


THE  PAGEANT  OF  IMPEACHMENT  341 


made  the  appearance  of  the  newspaper  paragraph 
seem  an  intolerable  impertinence  rather  than  the 
compliment  it  was  designed  to  be. 

Between  the  publication  of  these  paragraphs,  how¬ 
ever,  she  had  been  privileged  to  attend  the  opening 
of  one  of  the  most  celebrated  functions  in  the  history 
of  England — the  Impeachment  of  Warren  Hastings  at 
the  bar  of  the  House  of  Lords.  The  Queen  provided 
her  with  two  tickets  for  the  opening  day,  but  it  would 
be  going  too  far  to  say  that  but  for  her  connection 
with  the  Court  she  would  not  have  enjoyed  the 
privilege  of  being  present  upon  this  occasion.  She 
was  the  friend  of  a  number  of  the  most  distinguished 
persons  associated  with  the  trial,  and  any  one  of 
them  would  have  been  in  a  position  to  present  her 
with  tickets  had  she  needed  them. 

Several  accounts  of  this  great  trial  have  been  pub¬ 
lished  ;  some  have  treated  it  from  the  standpoint 
of  picturesqueness,  with  little  reference  to  its 
historical  value,  and  others  have  ignored  all  but 
its  purely  legal  aspects.  Several  have  referred  to 
it  as  if  it  had  been  organised  solely  for  the  display 
of  the  splendid  oratorical  outbursts  of  Burke  and 
Sheridan,  ignoring  the  significance  of  the  trial  itself 
and  the  gravity  of  the  issues  ;  but  the  most  widely 
read  of  all  is  that  which  was  written  by  Lord  Mac¬ 
aulay  in  his  most  picturesque  style,  and  with  that 
splendid  disregard  for  every  detail  which,  however 
essential  to  the  accuracy  of  the  true  picture,  threatened 
to  interfere  with  the  effect  of  the  picture  he  meant 
to  paint.  From  Fanny  Burney  we  get  a  rambling 


342 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


personal  and  intimate  account  of  some  bits  of 
the  opening  scene — a  very  womanly  account  of  it, 
the  account  of  an  avowed  partisan  of  the  im¬ 
peached,  and  of  one  who  was  quite  ready  to  give 
her  verdict,  as  a  true  woman  will  in  similar  circum¬ 
stances,  in  accordance  with  the  impression  he 
produced  upon  her  before  the  proceedings  had 
quite  begun. 

The  one  thing  that  strikes  us  about  Fanny 
Burney’s  account  is  its  life.  It  is  the  only  account 
we  have  in  which  there  is  a  breath  of  life.  All  the 
others  are  nothing  more  than  highly  coloured  pic¬ 
tures  painted  on  canvas,  some  with  more  or  less 
development  of  a  distinct  scheme  of  chiaroscuro 
— Macaulay’s  foremost  among  these  —  some  with 
more  or  less  rectitude  in  regard  to  perspective,  but 
all  inanimate,  though  with  a  vast  pretence  of  anima¬ 
tion.  Fanny  Burney’s,  with  no  touch  of  colour, 
with  none  of  that  element  known  as  word-painting, 
has  the  breath  of  life  in  it.  Macaulay’s  is  not  really 
so  much  a  description  of  a  scene  of  life  as  it  is  a 
steel  engraving  of  a  painted  picture — perhaps  it 
would  be  better  to  call  it  an  able  dramatic  critic’s 
account  of  an  admirably  mounted  play ;  that  is 
possibly  why  it  will  ever  remain  the  most  popular 
of  his  great  achievements.  He  was  one  of  the 
most  competent  dramatic  critics  that  ever  lived,  and 
so  he  was  most  fully  equipped  for  describing  the 
greatest  piece  of  Party  stage-craft  ever  devised  in 
England.  One  day  Fanny  Burney  brought  her 
sailor  brother  with  her  to  the  trial.  It  was  on  the 


THE  PAGEANT  OF  IMPEACHMENT  343 


second  day  of  the  harangue  of  Edmund  Burke,  and 
his  eloquence  was  resounding  through  Westminster 
Hall.  “When  will  he  come  to  the  point?”  growled 
the  man  whose  life  was  spent  in  action,  not  in  acting. 
“  When  will  he  come  to  the  point  ?  ”  “  These  are 

mere  words!”  “This  is  all  sheer  detraction!” 
“All  this  is  nothing  to  the  purpose!”  and  so  forth. 
That  was  the  running  fire  of  comment  kept  up  by 
this  aspirant  to  the  command  of  a  frigate  of  thirty- 
two  guns,  and  Fanny’s  quoting  of  his  words  apolo¬ 
getically,  referring  to  him  as  “  our  keen  as  well  as 
honest  James,”  gives  us  a  better  idea  of  the  stagi¬ 
ness  of  the  whole  affair  than  any  account  we  have 
of  it,  outside  Macaulay.  There  is  the  criticism  of 
a  critic  of  life  upon  a  stage  play,  and  it  seems  to  us 
to  be  worth  a  good  deal  more  than  the  amplest 
deliverance  of  an  intellect  accustomed  only  to  gauge 
effects  from  the  standpoint  of  the  drama. 

Of  course  Fanny  Burney  was  a  partisan  of  Hast¬ 
ings.  She  had  known  him  for  some  years,  and 
had  frequently  visited  his  wife.  Her  brother-in-law 
had  been  Warren  Hastings’s  private  secretary.  In 
addition,  the  Queen  was  on  the  side  of  Hastings, 
and  she  was  on  the  side  of  the  Queen.  It  was  in 
this  spirit  that  she  entered  Westminster  Hall  between 
nine  and  ten  o’clock  and  found  it  already  crowded 
with  Peers  and  Peeresses,  Judges,  Bishops,  and  all 
the  leaders  of  fashion  in  town,  to  say  nothing  of 
“all  those  creatures  that  filled  the  green  benches 
looking  so  little  like  gentlemen  and  so  much  like 
hair-dressers,”  as  her  neighbour,  Lady  Claremont, 


344 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


put  it,  that  she  had  considerable  difficulty  in  learning 
their  status  and  how  such  people  had  contrived 
to  enter  so  distinguished  a  company,  until  some  one 
obligingly  informed  her  that  these  were  members 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  and  we  suppose  that 
the  information  was  equivalent  to  an  explanation 
of  the  question  that  was  troubling  her. 

At  twelve  o’clock  the  Managers  of  the  Prosecu¬ 
tion  entered  and  Miss  Burney  “shuddered  and  drew 
involuntarily  back  ”  when  Burke  at  the  head  of  this 
hideous  retinue  made  his  appearance. 

She  had  always  liked  Mr.  Burke,  and  her  regard 
for  him  must  have  been  greatly  increased  by  his 
lavish  appreciation  of  Evelina  ;  but  now  she  shud¬ 
dered,  and  in  her  eyes  he  was  a  changed  man.  She 
was  not  a  dramatic  critic,  consequently  she  had  no 
applause  for  an  extremely  effective  entrance  of  the 
leading  actor  in  the  play  on  which  the  curtain  had 
just  been  drawn  up.  If  Burke  should  not  prove  the 
leading  actor  as  he  was  the  leading  Manager,  it 
would  not  be  Burke’s  fault.  He  entered  slowly  and 
with  a  parchment  scroll  in  his  hand,  “  his  brow 
knit  with  corroding  care  and  deep  labouring  thought,” 
she  records,  and  we  feel  as  if  we  were  reading  the 
stage  directions  for  the  chief  actor  in  a  play.  We 
feel  that  Mr.  Burke  had  rehearsed  that  entrance  and 
that  expression  of  countenance  many  times  in  front 
of  a  looking-glass,  and  that  it  took  him  several  days 
to  get  them  exactly  right.  But  he  succeeded  at 
last,  for  that  “  brow  knit  with  corroding  care  ”  was 
very  different  from  “  that  which  had  proved  so 


THE  PAGEANT  OF  IMPEACHMENT  345 


alluring  ”  to  Miss  Burney  when  they  had  first  met 
and  he  had  won  her  warmest  admiration.  “  So 
highly  as  he  had  been  my  favourite,”  she  says,  “  so 
captivating  as  I  had  found  his  manners  and  conver¬ 
sation  in  our  first  acquaintance,  and  so  much  as  I 
had  owed  to  his  zeal  to  me  and  my  affairs  in  its 
progress !  how  did  I  grieve  to  behold  him  now  the 
cruel  Prosecutor  (such  to  me  he  appeared)  of  an 
injured  and  innocent  man  !  ” 

After  him  came  Fox,  Sheridan,  Windham  and 
the  others  ;  but  she  failed  to  see  what  was  the  exact 
expression  worn  by  any  of  them ;  they  did  not 
cause  her  a  shudder,  any  more  than  did  the  Peers, 
Bishops,  Princes  of  the  Blood,  or  even  the  Lord 
Chancellor  himself  with  his  train-bearer.  It  was 
not  until  the  Sergeant-at-Arms  arose  and  called 
out  to  Warren  Hastings,  Esquire,  to  come  forth 
in  Court  “  to  save  thee  and  thy  bail,  otherwise  the 
recognisance  of  thou  and  thy  bail  will  be  forfeited  ” 
— Miss  Burney  did  not  quote  the  summons  quite 
correctly — that  she  trembled  where  before  she  had 
shuddered,  and  could  hardly  keep  her  place  when 
Mr.  Hastings  appeared  about  ten  minutes  after 
his  “  awful  summons,”  and  made  a  low  bow  to  the 
Chancellor  and  Court  facing  him.  He  had  to 
execute  several  bows  before  he  reached  the  bar 
and  made  a  motion  of  dropping  on  his  knees,  but 
the  voice  of  an  official  telling  him  he  had  leave  to 
rise  saved  him  from  an  attitude  which  Fanny 
regarded  as  one  of  shocking  humiliation — strangely 
enough,  considering  it  was  the  customary  attitude 


346 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


for  a  stranger  entering  the  presence  of  the  sove¬ 
reign. 

“  What  an  awful  moment  for  such  a  man !”  she 
cries.  “  A  man  fallen  from  such  height  of  power 
to  a  situation  so  humiliating  !  .  .  .  Could  even  his 
Prosecutors  at  that  moment  look  on — and  not  shudder 
at  least,  if  they  did  not  blush  ?  ” 

We  rather  fancy  that  several  of  them  would 
have  been  able  to  exercise  sufficient  self-restraint. 
The  majority  were,  we  fancy,  thinking  more  about 
the  figure  they  cut  in  the  eyes  of  so  large  and 
fashionable  an  assembly  than  about  the  humiliation 
of  Mr.  Hastings.  Every  one  who  has  been  present 
at  a  great  criminal  trial  must  quickly  have  come 
to  perceive  that  the  man  at  the  bar  is  treated 
absolutely  as  a  negligible  quantity  by  the  judge 
and  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution  as  well  as 
his  own  counsel  :  he  is  only  regarded  as  a  silly 
fool  of  no  consequence  by  himself,  but  one  whose 
presence  is  unavoidable  as  an  excuse  for  the 
exercise  of  a  vast  deal  of  cleverness,  a  vast 
deal  of  talking,  a  vast  deal  of  wrangling,  and 
the  exchange  of  a  vast  deal  of  money.  Warren 
Hastings  was  being  impeached  to  give  Burke, 
Sheridan,  and  the  rest  their  chance  of  posing  as 
the  enemies  of  the  Oppressed,  and  of  displaying 
their  eloquence  to  an  audience  of  extraordinary 
distinction.  Who  was  Warren  Hastings  that  they 
should  shudder  at  the  sight  of  him,  or  blush  for 
being  the  means  of  causing  him  inconvenience 
or  humiliation  ?  When  Burke  and  Sheridan  knew, 


THE  PAGEANT  OF  IMPEACHMENT  347 


each  in  his  turn,  that  they  had  done  justice  to 
themselves  in  their  speeches,  they  must  actually 
have  liked  Warren  Hastings  for  giving  them  the 
chance  of  their  lives.  They  would  have  been 
very  ungrateful  if  they  had  not  liked  him.  Assuredly 
they  thought  more  of  doing  themselves  justice  than 
of  doing  any  injustice  to  him.  As  Managers  of 
the  Prosecution  they  had  no  reason  to  blush  for 
themselves.  They  had  need  only  to  blush  for  that 
system  of  Party  Government  under  the  compulsion 
of  which  they  were  acting. 

And  then  came  the  Chancellor’s  formal  explanation 
to  the  prisoner  of  his  position  and  privileges ; 
and  Miss  Burney  perceived  that  the  situation  was 
too  awful  even  for  a  hardened  lawyer  like  Thurlow, 
for  his  eyes,  keen  and  black,  softened  into  some  degree 
of  tenderness  while  fastened  full  upon  the  prisoner  ; 
but  she  would  not  allow  that  the  “  prosecutors  ”  were 
in  the  least  degree  affected  by  a  formality  which, 
she  thought,  touched  every  one  else  in  the  building, 
raising  “the  strongest  emotions  in  the  cause  of 
Mr.  Hastings.”  She  was  a  thorough  partisan. 

After  Mr.  Hastings  had  assured  the  Court  of 
his  confidence  that  he  would  obtain  justice,  the 
reading  of  the  charges  began,  and  this  part  was 
like  the  entr’acte  in  a  theatre  or  the  performance 
of  a  Handelian  fugue  on  an  organ  at  a  concert, 
for  it  was  accepted  as  a  signal  for  conversation, 
and  it  is  at  this  point  that  Miss  Burney  becomes 
most  interesting ;  though  some  time  had  still  to 
elapse  before  she  got  rid  of  her  emotional  seizure 


348 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


at  the  sight  of  the  dreadfully  harassed  expression 
on  the  face  of  the  prisoner.  Only  by  the  exercise 
of  the  greatest  self-constraint  was  she  saved  from 
tears.  What  she  was  most  afraid  of  was  being  seen 
by  him.  She  begged  the  assistance  of  her  brother 
and  her  friend  Miss  Gomme  to  enable  her  to  avoid 
meeting  his  eye.  She  was  not  sure  of  her  success, 
however,  and  consequently  she  felt  inclined  to  resent 
the  civility  of  a  salutation  offered  to  her  by  Mr. 
Montagu,  the  member  for  Higham  Ferrers,  who 
was  in  the  hated  Managers’  box.  She  had  the 
satisfaction  of  noting  that  he  looked  gloomy  and 
uncomfortable,  as  if  engaged  in  a  business  that  he 
did  not  approve  of. 

But  then  what  did  she  think  when  she  saw  her 
friend  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds — him  who  had  remained 
sleepless  all  one  night  while  reading  Evelina — actually 
smiling  in  the  midst  of  the  Committee?  Well, 
she  wished  that  she  had  not  seen  him,  and  that 
he  had  not  seen  her.  Possibly  he  did  not  know 
till  the  day  of  his  death  why  little  Miss  Burney 
had  shrunk  away  from  his  well-meant  smiles,  and 
his  well-meant  attempt  to  exchange  confidences 
with  her,  explaining  in  dumb-show  that  he  had 
forgotten  or  mislaid  his  ear-trumpet.  There  is  a 
bit  of  the  real  living  thing  that  we  have  in  Fanny 
Burney’s  Diary,  but  that  is  absent  in  the  more  finished 
descriptions  of  the  scene.  She  begged  her  com¬ 
panion,  Miss  Gomme,  to  help  her  to  avoid  catching 
the  eye  of  any  of  the  other  wretches  in  the  Managers’ 
box;  but  Miss  Gomme  was  interested  in  one 


THE  PAGEANT  OF  IMPEACHMENT  349 


of  them,  Gilbert  Elliot — he  afterwards  became  the 
first  Earl  of  Minto  and  Governor-General  of  India — 
so  she  only  laughed  at  Fanny’s  petition  and  asked 
why  she  should  avoid  the  adverse  Committee  at 
all  ;  and  before  she  could  offer  an  explanation,  another 
figure  in  that  dreadful  place  had  risen  and  was 
making  a  profound  bow  to  her.  This  was  Richard 
Burke,  the  elder  brother  of  Edmund. 

She  had  a  short  interval  for  conversation  with 
the  Mr.  Crutchley  with  whom  she  had  been  on  terms 
of  such  pleasant  intimacy  in  the  old  Streatham  days, 
but  whom  she  had  not  seen  since,  when  up  jumped 
still  another  figure  in  the  Committee  box,  with  an 
inquiry  after  her  health.  This  was  young  Mr.  Burke, 
whom  she  had  always  thought  well  of,  and  she 
could  not  but  be  civil  to  him,  even  though  he 
was  actually  standing  within  the  precincts  of  the 
hated  box. 

She  was  taxed  to  the  uttermost  to  conceal  her 
vexation,  as  can  easily  be  understood  ;  for  her 
situation  was  certainly  a  difficult  one.  There  were 
all  her  former  friends  apparently  among  the  perse¬ 
cutors  (they  only  called  themselves  prosecutors) 
of  the  man  for  whom  she  had  a  great  admiration, 
and  for  whom — and  this  is  much  more  to  the  point — 
the  Queen  had  a  great  admiration.  But  she  felt 
bound  to  respond  to  their  civilities  in  the  old  way, 
lest  they  should  fancy  she  had  become  spoilt  through 
being  constantly  in  the  company  of  Royalty.  But 
then  there  was  Royalty  in  the  form  of  the  Queen 
herself  with  an  eye  on  her,  ready  to  mark  how  civil 


350 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


she  was  to  the  men  who  had  conspired  together 
against  Mr.  Warren  Hastings,  whom  Her  Majesty 
held  in  the  highest  esteem.  In  addition,  there 
was  Mr.  Hastings  himself  looking  about  him  and 
almost  certain  to  notice  on  what  friendly  terms  she 
was  with  his  persecutors !  The  thought  that  he 
might  do  so  was  insupportable.  She  must  many 
times  have  wished  (for  a  few  moments)  that  she 
had  not  come  to  this  splendid  affair.  Surely,  she 
would  have  been  more  at  ease  in  her  own  parlour, 
even  though  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  were  shrieking 
at  her. 

She  managed  with  some  adroitness  to  get  away 
from  the  young  and  amiable  Mr.  Burke,  but  before 
she  had  time  to  congratulate  herself  upon  having 
at  last  escaped  from  the  pertinacious  band  of 
Committee  men,  her  brother  Charles,  sitting  behind, 
bent  down  with  the  message  that  a  gentleman  wished 
to  be  presented  to  her.  Who  was  he  ?  Why,  only 
Mr.  Windham,  the  leading  spirit  of  the  Prosecution  ! 


MISS  BURNEYS  TRIAL 


I* 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


MISS  BURNEY’S  TRIAL 

MISS  BURNEY  must  have  felt  that  this  was 
the  last  straw.  The  Fates  were  against 
her.  In  trying  to  avoid  the  Scylla  of  young  Burke 
she  had  fallen  upon  the  Charybdis  of  Mr.  Windham. 
At  first  she  thought  that  her  brother  was  having 
his  jest  against  her,  and  she  made  a  reply  to  his 
announcement  in  this  spirit ;  but  she  was  quickly 
given  to  understand  that  Mr.  Windham  was  actually 
awaiting  her  pleasure.  It  seems  to  us  that  from 
the  moment  she  realised  this  she  abandoned  every 
attempt  to  escape  from  the  toils  of  the  Committee  : 
they  were  too  much  for  her.  She  gave  in  with 
as  good  a  grace  as  she  could.  She  remembered 
that  this  Mr.  Windham  was  a  gentleman  of  family 
and  fortune  and  that  his  place  in  Norfolk  was  close 
to  where  her  sister  Charlotte  and  her  husband  lived, 
and  such  a  connection  was  not  to  be  ignored.  What¬ 
ever  might  come  of  it  she  would  speak  to  Mr. 
Windham. 

And  what  did  come  of  it  was  one  of  the  most 
interesting  chapters  in  her  Diary — one  of  the 
most  interesting  chapters  that  she  ever  wrote,  and 
one  that  in  its  power  of  bringing  before  our  eyes 

24  353 


354 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


one  of  the  most  remarkable  scenes  in  the  Parlia¬ 
mentary  history  of  England  surpasses  most  of  the 
efforts  of  the  great  word-painters  that  have  dealt 
with  it. 

“  There,  with  eyes  reverently  fixed  on  Burke, 
appeared  the  finest  gentleman  of  the  age,  his  form  de¬ 
veloped  by  every  manly  exercise,  his  face  beaming 
with  intelligence  and  spirit,  the  ingenious,  the  chival¬ 
rous,  high-souled  Windham,”  wrote  Macaulay  of  this 
man  at  this  great  scene.  There  is  the  miniature  of  this 
man  done  on  ivory.  But  to  see  the  man  himself, 
living  and  breathing  and  talking,  we  must  go  to 
Fanny  Burney’s  Diary.  And  it  is,  we  think,  because 
we  see  Fanny  Burney  herself  so  clearly  in  the  course 
of  the  conversation  which  she  records,  that  we  see 
Windham  so  clearly  by  her  side  as  well  as  the  whole 
scene  in  the  crowded  Westminster  Hall  upon  that 
memorable  day. 

The  Diarist  is  self-conscious  at  first.  She  is  still 
thinking  of  Hastings  and  of  the  dreaded  possibility 
that  he  will  glance  in  her  direction,  and,  seeing 
her  in  close  conversation  with  one  of  his  enemies, 
think  of  her  as  a  traitress ;  and  this  being  on  her 
mind,  she  feels  that  she  must  do  the  best  for  him 
that  she  can — she  feels  that  not  for  a  moment  must 
she  yield  an  inch  to  those  of  his  enemies  who  may 
seek  to  shake  her  confidence  in  his  innocence  of 
the  charges  brought  against  him.  She  knows  nothing 
about  the  charges  or  about  the  rights  or  the  wrongs 
of  the  case ;  she  only  knows  that  Hastings  is  innocent 
and  that  she  must  accept  everything  that  may 


MISS  BURNEY’S  TRIAL 


355 


occur  as  tending  to  make  his  innocence  appear  the 
clearer.  This  woman’s  reasoning  would  be  contemp¬ 
tible  were  it  displayed  by  Windham,  but  being  displayed 
by  Miss  Burney  it  strikes  us  as  being  a  perfectly 
natural  womanly  trait,  that  gives  a  vitality  to  the 
scene  which  could  not  be  imparted  to  it  by  any 
other  means. 

We  not  only  hear  her  talking  to  the  “  finest 
gentleman  of  the  age,”  we  see  them  talking  together 
in  that  desultory  way  which  is  so  natural  to  people 
of  divided  interests.  It  was  not  long,  however,  before 
Fanny  Burney  showed  him  in  what  direction  her 
interest  lay.  He  spoke  of  the  striking  spectacle 
before  their  eyes,  and  then  gave  her  some  encourage¬ 
ment  by  praising  the  demeanour  of  the  Lord 
Chancellor.  The  Lord  Chancellor  was  well  known 
to  be  a  friend  of  Hastings,  so  she  thought  it  rather 
generous  on  the  part  of  Windham,  who  was  not,  to 
say  a  good  word  about  him.  But  there  was  one  word 
made  use  of  by  the  Chancellor  in  his  brief  address  to 
the  accused  that  this  accuser  could  not  let  pass.  He 
said  that  the  Chancellor  had  alluded  to  the  charges 
as  “mere  allegations.”  He  had  no  business  to  qualify 
the  allegations  in  a  slighting  way,  Windham  thought  ; 
but  Miss  Burney  declared  that  she  had  not  heard 
the  unnecessary  word  ;  she  thought  that  the  Chan¬ 
cellor  had  been  very  fair — had  he  not  referred  to 
the  accusers  as  “  so  respectable  ”  ?  Windham  could 
not  but  be  mollified  on  being  reminded  of  those 
flattering  terms  in  which  Thurlow  had  alluded  to 
the  Prosecutors,  and  then  Miss  Burney,  who  appar- 


356 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


ently  had  never  before  heard  a  speech  made  in  public, 
inquired  what  the  cries  of  “Hear,  hear!”  uttered 
after  the  Chancellor  had  finished,  portended,  and 
he  explained  very  fully. 

Now  it  might  reasonably  have  been  expected 
that  Mr.  Windham,  considering  what  his  position 
was,  would  have  made  some  attempt  to  conceal  what 
was  uppermost  in  his  mind.  It  was  only  natural 
that  Miss  Burney,  unaccustomed  as  she  was  to  public 
speaking  and  the  amenities  of  a  public  court,  should 
dwell  upon  every  point  that  struck  her  as  having 
a  bearing  upon  the  issue  ;  but  we  are  surprised  to 
find  this  man  of  affairs  so  ready  to  notice  such  small 
incidents  as  the  proximity  of  Major  Scott  to  the 
Speaker,  who,  said  he,  “is  here  as  a  sort  of  Repre¬ 
sentative  of  the  King.”  Now,  Major  Scott  had  been 
Hastings’s  agent  in  England,  and  a  fine  bungler 
he  had  been  too,  for  it  was  agreed  that,  but  for 
his  injudicious  zeal,  the  impeachment  would  never 
have  taken  place.  Windham’s  remark,  however, 
suggested  that  an  attempt  was  being  made  to  show 
that  Court  influence  was  being  exercised  in  favour  of 
the  accused. 

And  immediately  afterward  he  called  her  attention 
to  the  attitude  of  the  Archbishop  of  York — “  See 
how  he  affects  to  read  the  articles  of  impeachment 
as  if  he  was  still  open  to  either  side!  My  good 
Lord  Archbishop!  Your  Grace  might  with  perfect 
safety  spare  your  eyes,  for  your  mind  has  been  made 
up  upon  this  subject  before  ever  it  was  investigated ! 
He  holds  Hastings  to  be  the  greatest  man  in  the 


MISS  BURNEY’S  TRIAL 


357 


world,”  he  explained  to  Fanny,  “for  Hastings 
promoted  the  interest  of  his  son  in  the  East 
Indies.” 

This  was  hardly  a  remark  to  be  made  respecting 
a  great  dignitary  of  the  Church  by  Macaulay’s  “finest 
gentleman  of  the  age,”  least  of  all  to  the  Queen’s 
Keeper  of  the  Robes  ;  but  what  a  touch  of  life  and 
actuality  his  suggestion  gives  to  the  scene  ! 

And  then  he  glances  at  the  accused  and  rhapsodises 
upon  the  change  in  his  fortune,  so  lately  having 
“  nations  at  his  command — princes  prostrate  at  his 
feet!  How  he  must  feel  it!”  At  any  rate,  Mr. 
Windham  felt  it.  He  found  it  necessary  to  look 
at  the  other  side  of  the  picture  in  order  to  nerve 
himself  to  do  all  that  he  had  set  himself  out  to  do 
as  one  of  the  Prosecutors.  “  Oh,  could  those — the 
thousands — the  millions — who  have  groaned  and 
languished  under  the  iron  rod  of  his  oppressions — 
could  they  but — whatever  region  they  inhabit — be 
permitted  one  dawn  of  light  to  look  into  this  Hall 
and  see  him  there  ! — there  where  he  now  stands — it 
might  prove  perhaps  some  recompense  for  their 
sufferings  !  ” 

And  yet  he  could  tell  Miss  Burney  some  time 
later  that  he  had  not  his  speech  prepared  !  Of  course, 
he  was  just  trying  how  some  of  his  choicest  flowers  of 
rhetoric  and  rhapsody  would  bloom  in  the  atmosphere 
of  Westminster  Hall.  After  this,  we  can  quite  easily 
accept  Macaulay’s  picture  of  him  as  sitting  “  with 
his  eyes  reverently  fixed  on  Burke.”  That  “iron 
rod  of  his  oppressions”  had  assuredly  come  out  of 


358 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


Burke’s  forge.  Miss  Burney’s  silence  he  took  for 
acquiescence,  for  he  went  on  to  point  out  how 
wonderful  an  instance  of  the  instability  of  mortal 
power  was  presented  in  the  spectacle  of  Hastings 
a  prisoner  at  the  Bar — “  a  man  whose  power,  so 
short  a  time  since,  was  of  equal  magnitude  with  his 
crimes !  ” 

This  was  certainly  a  figure  of  speech  far  beyond 
the  bounds  of  the  most  extravagant  colloquialism  ; 
and  it  is  no  wonder  that  little  Miss  Burney,  not 
suspecting,  as  we  are  cynical  enough  to  do  nowadays, 
that  the  man  was  merely  airing  the  oration  which 
he  had  carefully  prepared  “a  short  time  since” — 
“tuning  up”  as  we  would  call  it — began  to  wonder 
if  it  was  really  possible  that  he  could  believe  all  that — 
that  Mr.  Hastings  could  appear  to  him  to  be  such  a 
monster.  Once  more  she  indulged  in  a  shudder 
while  he  spoke,  and  began  to  feel  alarm  to  find 
him  in  such  earnest.  That  was  because  she  was 
so  much  in  earnest  herself.  What  she  should  have 
done  was  to  make  use  of  those  enigmatical  words 
which  had  followed  the  conclusion  of  the  Chancellor’s 
address,  crying  “Hear,  hear!”  in  a  whisper,  and 
asking  her  companion  if  he  meant  to  make  use  of 
that  iron  rod  at  the  beginning  of  his  address  or  to 
reserve  it  for  the  peroration ;  giving  him  her  opinion 
that  perhaps  the  effect  of  the  comparison  between 
the  magnitude  of  the  man’s  power  and  his  crimes 
would  be  increased  if  it  were  made  more  alliterative. 
So  one  artist  criticises  another  who  has  just  taken 
a  sketch  out  of  his  portfolio  and  asked  for  an  opinion 


MISS  BURNEYS  TRIAL 


359 


upon  it.  Mr.  Windham  had  a  whole  portfolio  of 
phrases  awaiting  any  suggestion  that  she  might 
offer ;  but  she  thought  that  he  wanted  her  acquies¬ 
cence  in  his  views  regarding  the  policy  of  Hastings’s 
administration  in  the  East.  An  artist  who  exhibits 
a  picture  that  he  has  just  painted  of  Luther  burning 
the  Pope’s  Bull  does  not  expect  a  critic  to  question 
him  as  to  his  soundness  on  the  subject  of  the 
Reformation. 

But  Miss  Burney  had  never  been  in  either  the 
House  of  Commons  or  a  Court  of  Law,  and  so  she 
made  up  her  mind  to  take  him  au  pied  de  la  lettre  ; 
and  she  begged  his  leave  to  speak  to  him  frankly, 
telling  him  that  in  her  opinion  it  was  impossible 
for  any  one,  “not  particularly  engaged  on  the  opposite 
side,”  to  enter  a  court  of  justice  without  wishing 
wrell  to  the  prisoner  ;  and  so  she  suggested  by  degrees 
her  feeling  in  favour  of  Mr.  Hastings;  but  he  was 
really  surprised  when,  a  little  later,  she  assured  him 
that  she  was  actually  on  the  side  of  Mr.  Hastings. 
He  could  scarcely  believe  that  she  spoke  the  truth, 
and  all  that  he  could  advise  her  to  do  was  to  come 
and  hear  Burke  and  read  the  charges  of  the  Begums 
— Burke  and  the  Begums,  that  was  his  rallying 
cry  to  bring  her  to  see  the  error  of  being  prepossessed 
in  Mr.  Hastings’s  favour.  “  Come  to  hear  Burke — 
to  hear  truth,  reason,  justice,  eloquence  !  You  will 
then  see  in  other  colours  that  man!  There  is  more 
cruelty,  more  oppression,  more  tyranny  in  that  little 
machine,  with  an  arrogance,  a  self-confidence,  un¬ 
exampled,  unheard-of  .  .  .  .  ” 


360 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


So  he  went  on,  and  artful  Miss  Burney  gave  him 
plenty  of  rope  ;  then  suddenly  she  sprang  upon  him 
the  fact  of  her  acquaintance  with  Hastings,  and  of 
her  knowledge  of  his  being  mild,  gentle,  and  extremely 
pleasing  in  his  manners. 

“  Gentle  ?  ”  cried  he  incredulously. 

“Yes,  indeed;  gentle  even  to  humility!” 

“Humility?  Mr.  Hastings  and  humility?” 

It  was  clear  that  against  “  Burke  and  the  Begums  ” 
she  was  ready  to  cry  “  Hastings  and  Humility.”  She 
assured  him  that  seeing  him  “  so  simple,  so  unas¬ 
suming  when  just  returned  from  a  government  that 
had  accustomed  him  to  a  power  superior  to  our 
monarch’s  here,”  had  produced  an  effect  upon  her 
that  nothing  could  erase. 

“Oh,  yes,  yes,”  cried  he;  “you  will  give  it  up! 
You  must  give  it  up  !  It  will  be  plucked  away — rooted 
wholly  out  of  your  mind !  ” 

But  Fanny  would  not  hear  of  this,  and  Mr. 
Windham  was  compelled  to  draw  her  attention  to 
the  aspect  of  the  accused.  “  ’Tis  surely,”  he  cried, 
“  an  unpleasant  one  !  ” 

He  was  now  treating  her  as  though  she  were  an 
ordinary  woman  ;  and  so  she  showed  herself  to  be  ; 
for  she  remembered  what  many  other  people  had 
noticed,  that  a  strong  likeness  existed  between  this 
Mr.  Windham  and  that  Mr.  Hastings  with  the 
unpleasant  cast  of  countenance. 

“  How  should  he  look  otherwise  than  unpleasant 
here  ?  ”  she  cried. 

This  he  admitted  to  be  true ;  but  still  thought 


MISS  BURNEY’S  TRIAL 


361 


that  his  expression  was  against  him.  But  this  was 
due,  we  fancy,  to  his  having  looked  too  reverently 
into  the  face  of  Burke  when  the  latter  had  declared — 
“  admirably,”  Windham  thought — that  Hastings 
looked  “  like  a  hungry  tiger,  ready  to  howl  for  his 
prey.”  Mr.  Burke,  like  the  finished  orator  that 
he  was,  never  neglected  to  introduce  a  touch  of 
local  colour.  He  probably  said  “a  hungry  Bengal 
tiger. 

It  is  impossible  not  to  admire  the  adroitness  with 
which  Miss  Burney  led  the  man  on  to  listen  to  all  that 
she  had  to  say  in  favour  of  Hastings,  or  the  art  with 
which  she  moderated  her  eulogies  of  him.  No  ecstatic 
zeal  to  make  him  out  to  be  a  demi-god  was  hers ; 
she  only  assured  Mr.  Windham  that  she  had  found 
Mr.  Hastings  to  be  a  gentle,  unassuming  and  inter¬ 
esting  man.  When  Windham  found  it  necessary  at 
last  to  comment  upon  the  indecency  of  the  accused 
appearing  upon  this  day  in  a  coat  that  was  not 
black,  she  must  have  felt  that  indeed  she  had  reduced 
the  arguments  of  his  accuser  to  ashes. 

Whether  or  not  it  was  customary  for  an  accused 
gentleman  to  appear  in  black,  she  was,  she  said,  heartily 
glad  that  Mr.  Hastings  had  not  done  so  ;  for  “  Why 
should  he  feel  so  dismal,  so  shut  out  from  hope  ?  she 
cried,  and  he  answered,  not  at  all  pleasantly,  we  think, 
that  he  believed  Hastings  had  not  judged  wrongly 
on  that  point. 

Then,  with  an  apology  for  being  compelled  to  show 
himself  in  the  Committee  box,  he  left  her  j  and  she 
felt  persuaded  that  never  before  in  her  life  had 


362 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


she  been  engaged  in  a  conversation  so  carious.  She 
defines  her  situation  very  clearly: — “The  warm 
well-wisher  myself  of  the  prisoner,  though  formerly 
the  warmest  admirer  of  his  accuser,  engaged  even  at 
his  trial  and  in  his  presence,  in  so  open  a  discussion 
with  one  of  his  principal  prosecutors ;  and  the  Queen 
herself  in  full  view,  unavoidably  beholding  me  in 
close  and  eager  conference  with  an  avowed  member 
of  the  opposition  !  ” 

It  must  be  acknowledged,  we  think,  that  in  such 
circumstances — in  any  circumstances — no  one  could 
have  behaved  better  than  she  did.  It  would  have 
been  a  great  mistake  for  her  to  have  avoided 
Windham.  He  would  have  told  Burke  of  it,  and 
Burke  would  have  attributed  her  act  to  Court  in¬ 
fluence.  But  how  could  any  one  say  that  the  Court 
was  desirous  of  influencing  people  in  Hastings’s  favour 
when  the  Queen’s  Keeper  of  the  Robes  had  been 
seen  in  open  conference  with  the  moving  spirit  of  the 
Prosecution  ? 

And  when  it  was  all  over  Miss  Burney  had  the 
satisfaction  of  feeling  that  she  had  done  something 
for  her  friend  at  the  bar.  But  she  must  have  been 
credulous  indeed  if  she  fancied  that  Mr.  Windham 
would  delete  a  single  metaphor  or  diminish  a  single 
trope  from  his  speech  denunciatory  of  Hastings 
because  he  had  found  out  from  her  that  Hastings  was 
a  kindly  gentleman  rather  than  Mr.  Burke’s  hungry, 
howling  tiger.  He  had  borrowed  Mr.  Burke’s  tiger 
for  studio  purposes,  and  intended  painting  Hastings 
from  this  model,  and  was  the  animal  to  be  wasted  ? 


MISS  BURNEY’S  TRIAL 


363 


He  probably  thought — or  tried  to  force  himself  to 
think — that  little  Miss  Burney  was,  after  all,  more 
of  a  woman  than  an  author,  to  allow  herself  to 
be  duped  by  the  plausible  manners  of  the  person 
whom  he  meant  to  achieve  fame  for  himself  by 
prosecuting  to  the  very  end. 

But  surely  the  way  in  which  the  scene  is  sug¬ 
gested,  with  scarcely  an  attempt  at  description,  by  Miss 
Burney — the  way  she  shows  us  the  different  people 
jumping  up  to  say  a  word  or  two  to  her — the  way  she 
points  out  the  Archbishop  reading  his  copy  of  the 
charges — the  way  she  shows  us  Windham  casting  a 
glance,  more  or  less  furtive,  every  now  and  again  at 
Hastings — the  way  she  repeats  the  long  conversation, 
noting  its  many  natural  interruptions,  brings  the 
whole  spectacle  before  us  very  much  more  vividly 
than  any  closer  attention  to  details  could  do.  To  be 
more  exact,  we  might  say  that  while  other  writers 
have  succeeded  in  bringing  the  scene  before  us,  she 
succeeds  without  any  literary  or  even  artistic  effort  in 
placing  us  in  the  centre  of  the  scene  itself.  We  see 
and  hear  everything  clearly  against  that  background 
of  monotonous  recapitulation  of  the  charges  which 
comes  from  one  of  the  clerks. 

And  the  moment  Windham  has  left  her,  she  is  able 
to  notice  the  grumbling  of  a  man  sitting  quite  close  to 
her — and  this  is  one  of  the  most  life-like  touches  of 
all — “  What  a  bore  !  ”  he  growls.  “  When  will  it  be 
over  ? — Must  one  come  any  more  ? — I  had  a  great 
mind  not  to  have  come  at  all. — Who’s  that? — Lady 
Hawkesbury  and  the  Copes?  Yes.  A  pretty  girl 


364 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


Kitty! — Well,  when  will  they  have  done?  I  wish 
they’d  call  the  question — I  should  vote  it  a  bore 
at  once ! ” 

Fanny,  just  breathing  evenly  once  more  after 
all  her  strenuous  conversation  with  Windham,  felt 
shocked. 


MR.  BURKE  MAKES  HIS  SPEECH 


CHAPTER  XXV 


MR.  BURKE  MAKES  HIS  SPEECH 

HER  friend  of  the  old  days,  Mr.  Crutchley, 
returned  to  her  side  when  Windham  had 
gone.  With  him  she  felt  on  sure  ground.  Talking 
with  him  involved  no  intellectual  strain.  She  had  not 
to  keep  constantly  thinking,  What  would  the  Queen 
say  ?  What  would  Mr.  Hastings  say  ?  They  had  a 
common  topic  on  which  they  both  agreed — “  poor 
Mrs.  Thrale !  ”  That  was  how  they  both  alluded 
to  her,  because,  after  living  for  a  number  of  years 
with  such  a  husband  as  Henry  Thrale,  a  man  for 
whom  she  could  not  have  any  regard,  she  chose 
to  marry  a  man  whom  she  could  love  and  respect 
and  who  was  worthy  of  her — worthy  of  the  sacrifice 
of  the  fortune  which  she  forfeited  thereby,  according 
to  the  terms  of  the  grossly  unjust  will  of  her  first 
husband. 

Crutchley  was  sound  on  the  Warren  Hastings 
question,  though  he  probably  knew  very  little  more 
about  it  than  did  Fanny  herself,  Member  of  Parlia¬ 
ment  though  he  was.  He  had  voted  consistently  on 
the  side  of  Hastings  at  every  division  on  the  impeach¬ 
ment  question. 


367 


368 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


But  Windham  returned  with  the  news  that  the 
plans  for  the  Prosecution  had  been  modified  consider¬ 
ably,  so  that  he  did  not  know  how  soon  he  might  be 
called  upon  to  make  his  speech.  He  acknowledged 
that  he  had  prepared  something  to  say — we  have 
taken  the  liberty  of  suggesting  that  he  tried  a  phrase 
or  two  upon  her — but  now  that  his  delivery  of  it  was 
imminent,  he  felt — well,  he  showed  that  he  felt 
inclined  to  moralise.  “  How  strange — how  infatuated 
a  frailty  has  man  with  respect  to  the  future  !  ”  he 
cried.  “  Be  our  views,  our  designs,  our  anticipations 
what  they  may,  we  are  never  prepared  for  it ! — 
it  always  takes  us  by  surprise — always  comes  before 
we  look  for  it !  ” 

So  he  maundered  on  with  similar  platitudes, 
repeating  his  moralisings,  only  with  additional  flowers 
and  flourishes  of  rhetoric — “The  day  for  which  we 
have  fought,  for  which  we  have  struggled — a  day, 
indeed,  of  national  glory  in  bringing  to  this  great 
tribunal  a  delinquent  from  so  high  an  office  .  .  .  the 
glow  of  a  public  cause — a  cause  to  support — to  revive, 
to  redress  helpless  multitudes  .  .  .  nothing  has  been 
left  untried  to  obstruct  us — every  check  and  clog 
of  power  and  influence,”  &c.,  &c. — on  he  went, 
bringing  out  his  phrases  to  hear  how  they  sounded. 
And  then,  after  exhorting  her  once  more  not  to  fail 
to  hear  Burke,  he  left  her,  and  if  she  had  not  been 
thinking  too  much  about  the  conquest  that  she  had 
achieved,  she  would  certainly  have  been  very  much 
inclined  to  cry  “  Hear,  hear  !  ”  to  the  grumbling  of  the 
Member  of  Parliament  in  the  next  box  who  protested 


MR.  BURKE  MAKES  HIS  SPEECH 


369 


against  the  boredom  of  it  all,  associating  herself  with  the 
opinions  which  he  had  expressed  so  pithily.  She  had 
listened  very  patiently  to  Windhams  conversational 
snatches  “shot”  (in  silk  mercer’s  parlance)  with  the 
rhetoric  of  the  day,  and  it  was  probably  this  respectful 
attention  of  hers  that  had  induced  him  to  remain 
so  long  listening  to  what  she  had  to  say  about 
the  man  in  whose  favour  she  was  as  greatly  prejudiced 
as  he  was  against  him  ;  but  when  he  suggested  getting 
her  some  refreshment — she  had  doubtless  need  of  it — 
she  resolutely  declined.  Her  sentiments  on  this  point 
were  as  fixed  as  those  of  Shylock.  “  I  will  talk  with 
you,  walk  with  you,  and  so  following  :  but  I  will  not 
eat  with  you.”  No,  she  would  have  no  refreshment 
at  his  hands,  that  were  soiled  in  so  base  a  cause  as 
the  one  of  which  she  confessed  she  knew  absolutely 
nothing.  It  was  a  matter  of  principle  with  her: 
“  Well  as  I  liked  him  for  a  conspirator ,  I  could 
not  break  bread  with  him,”  she  recorded  with  under¬ 
linings,  and  of  course  in  her  hunger  she  felt  all 
the  satisfaction  that  so  many  of  her  sex  have  felt  and 
still  feel  in  suffering  on  behalf  of  a  “  cause.” 

“  What  pity  that  a  man  who  should  feel  such 
impulsive  right  in  the  midst  of  party  rage,  should  bow 
down  to  any  party,  and  not  abide  by  such  impulse !  ” 
she  exclaimed  in  her  descriptive  letter  to  her  sister. 

She  did  not  think  of  the  possibility  of  Mr. 
Windham’s  remarking  to  Edmund  Burke  on  leaving 
her  side  : — 

“  What  pity  that  a  sensible  woman  like  that  Miss 
Burney  will  act  upon  the  promptings  of  so  dangerous 

25 


370 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


a  guide  as  impulse,  and  embrace  a  cause  of  the  merits 
of  which  she  confesses  she  knows  nothing,  to  the 
exclusion  of  any  issue  of  reason  and  justice !  ” 

But  we  cannot  doubt  that  when  the  Robe-keeper 
was  discharging  her  duties  that  evening,  and  relating 
to  the  Queen  everything  that  had  passed  between  her 
and  Windham,  her  sense  of  justice  and  reason  was 
exercised  on  behalf  of  the  man  who  had  given  her  so 
much  of  his  time  and  attention  upon  an  occasion  of  the 
greatest  historical  importance — an  occasion  on  which 
he  was  one  of  the  leading  figures.  With  her  usual 
reticence,  which  we  greatly  resent  nowadays,  she 
devotes  only  a  few  lines  to  the  Queen’s  reception  of  all 
that  she  had  to  tell.  But  she  mentions  that  Her 
Majesty  was  moved  to  tears,  doubtless  by  that  part  of 
her  narrative  which  referred  to  Windham’s  looking 
down  upon  Hastings  and  comparing  his  position  in  the 
East  with  his  appearance  when  bending  his  knee  at 
the  bar  at  the  other  side  of  which  were  his  accusers 
and  his  judges. 

Little  Miss  Burney  was,  of  course,  modest  enough 
in  referring  to  her  own  achievement  in  inducing 
Mr.  Windham  to  see  how  it  might  be  possible  for  the 
man  whom  he  was  impeaching  to  be  anything  but  the 
howling  hungry  tiger  of  Edmund  Burke’s  rhetorical 
menagerie,  but  there  can  hardly  be  a  doubt  that,  by 
the  time  she  had  finished  her  narrative  of  the  conver¬ 
sation,  the  Queen  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  her 
Miss  Burney  was  on  the  whole  a  more  interesting 
person  to  have  about  her  than  the  Haggerdorn  or 
even  the  Schwellenberg.  It  is  by  recollecting  the 


MR.  BURKE  MAKES  HIS  SPEECH 


371 


many  moments  of  interesting  intercourse  she  had  with 
her  Junior  Robe-keeper  that  we  come  to  understand 
quite  clearly  how  it  was  that  when  Fanny  wanted 
to  retire  Her  Majesty  would  not  hear  of  such  a  thing, 
but  held  her  by  her  side  until  a  Sovereign  even  more 
powerful  than  herself  threatened  to  deprive  her,  and 
the  world,  of  the  services  of  the  lady  whose  skill 
of  narration  had  moved  her  to  tears. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that,  when  Fanny  mentioned  her 
declining  Mr.  Windham’s  invitation  to  refreshment 
after  her  long  day  in  Westminster  Hall,  good  Queen 
Charlotte  gave  instructions  for  a  large  packet  of  sand¬ 
wiches  to  be  prepared  for  her  when  she  next  went  to 
the  great  trial. 

And  this  was  upon  a  day  when  she  would  certainly 
need  them  most.  It  was  upon  the  second  day  of 
Edmund  Burke’s  great  speech,  and  Fanny  was  to 
have  gone  under  the  wing  of  the  Mistress  of  the 
Robes,  but  the  Duchess  of  Ancaster,  being  indisposed, 
could  do  no  more  than  send  Fanny  a  ticket  for 
another  companion,  and  Fanny  was  fortunate  enough 
to  find  that  her  brother  James  could  accompany  her 
to  the  Hall.  We  might  be  disposed  to  fall  into  Mr. 
Windham’s  vein  of  comment  upon  this  incident,  and 
exclaim  how  wonderful  are  the  operations  of  Fate  ; 
for  if  the  Duchess  of  Ancaster  had  not  been  indis¬ 
posed  and  if  Captain  Burney  had  not  been  disengaged 
the  world  would  be  deprived  of  the  healthy  criticism  of 
a  man  of  action  upon  the  incomparable  performance 
of  a  man  of  words.  We  have  already  referred  to  the 
remarks  made  by  the  cool-headed  sailor  when  the 


372 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


great  orator  was  at  his  best,  carrying  every  one  else 
along  with  him,  and  they  form,  in  our  opinion,  a  com¬ 
mentary  which  makes  it  possible  for  us  to  criticise 
Burke’s  rhetoric  on  a  rational  basis.  Without  the 
sanction  of  Captain  Burney’s  comments  uttered  sotto 
voce  as  the  orator  went  from  period  to  period,  one 
would  indeed  be  bold  to  utter  a  word  suggestive  of 
detraction  in  regard  to  what  has  always  been 
honoured  as  a  masterpiece  of  rhetoric.  It  would  be 
in  vain  to  refer  to  an  oration  that  has  carried  people 
off  their  feet,  as  it  were,  when  one  has  only  the  copy 
in  cold  print  before  one.  It  is  one  thing  to  criticise 
the  work  of  an  orator  and  quite  another  to  criti¬ 
cise  the  report  of  the  words  that  flowed  from  him. 
We  must  judge  of  the  power  of  oratory  by  its  effect, 
and  the  instantaneous  comments  of  Captain  Burney, 
uttered  as  Burke’s  supreme  effort  was  being  made, 
indicate  very  clearly  what  was  the  effect  of  the 
oration  on  at  least  one  cool-headed  listener.  After  all 
that  we  have  heard  about  this  historical  trial,  and 
especially  about  the  grandeur  of  the  speeches  of 
Burke  and  Sheridan,  it  would  seem  impossible  to  us 
that  any  word  tending  to  reduce  the  whole  to  the 
ordinary  level  of  human  proceedings  could  be  forth¬ 
coming  from  one  who  was  present  as  an  eager  and 
active  observer  and  listener.  But  when  we  read 
Fanny  Burney’s  record  of  her  brother’s  words,  they 
seem  to  us  curiously  like  the  live  voice  of  the 
Twentieth  Century  commenting  upon  the  ghostly 
voice  of  the  Eighteenth.  The  impressions  of  the 
man  who  refuses  to  be  hypnotised  when  every  one  else 


MR.  BURKE  MAKES  HIS  SPEECH 


373 


is  under  the  spell  of  the  hypnotiser  are  certainly 
worthy  of  attention,  and  so  we  are  inclined  to  thank 
Captain  Burney  for  his  cool  head,  and  his  sister 
Fanny  for  her  record  of  a  few  of  the  remarks  he  made 
when  Burke  was  on  his  feet  in  front  of  them.  Con¬ 
scientious  a  reporter  as  she  was,  and  an  observer 
by  instinct  as  well,  every  word  that  she  has  written  in 
this  connection  but  adds  to  the  value  of  what  she  has 
to  tell.  She  makes  it  plain  that  she  was  almost 
ashamed  of  her  brother — that  she  considers  him  to 
have  been  rude  and  his  remarks  in  bad  taste.  She 
refers  to  him  with  that  toleration  which  one  extends 
to  simplicity — “  honest  James,”  she  calls  him,  and 
rather  smiles  at  his  sailor-like  outspokenness,  and  she 
hurries  him  away.  She  quotes  some  of  his  exclama¬ 
tions,  but  only  some,  we  may  be  sure,  and  these  the 
least  emphatic.  She  does  enough,  however  ;  people 
who  have  had  experience  of  green-sea  sailormen  and 
the  exigencies  of  command  in  the  Navy  can,  without 
difficulty,  supply  the  expletives  and  the  adjectives 
incidental  to  the  critical  comments  of  Captain  Burney, 
late  of  H.M.S.  Discovery ,  upon  the  oratorical 
gunnery  of  Edmund  Burke,  M.P.  A  command  of 
language  is  the  best  preliminary  to  a  command  of 
men,  and  we  may  be  sure  that  Captain  Burney,  who 
took  the  trouble  to  learn  a  Polynesian  tongue  when 
carrying  the  “gentle  savage”  Omai  from  his  native 
island  to  Captain  Burney’s,  was  to  be  depended  on 
when  the  qualification  of  a  lawyer’s  lingo  was  de¬ 
manded  of  him. 

“  When  will  he  come  to  the  point  ?  ”  inquired 


374 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


honest  Captain  Burney  while  Burke  soared.  “  These 
are  mere  words!”  “This  is  all  *  *  *  sheer  detrac¬ 
tion  !  ”  “  All  this  *  *  *  is  nothing  to  the  purpose  !  ” 

Our  heart  warms  to  this  honest  Captain  Burney, 
and  our  debt  to  his  “  honesty  ”  can  never  be  repaid. 
Amid  all  the  artificiality  of  this  great  trial — the 
artificial  forms  and  ceremonies — the  simulated  passion 
and  laboured  indignation  of  the  great  speech-makers 
— the  unreal  sentiments — the  tawdry  tags  of  antiquity 
that  passed  as  wisdom,  the  straightforward  comments 
of  James  Burney  Boat  to  us  as  gratefully  as  a  sea- 
breeze  to  the  face  of  one  coming  from  a  heated  ball¬ 
room.  The  atmosphere  of  the  latter  half  of  the 
eighteenth  century  is  the  atmosphere  of  a  ballroom, 
and  it  is  a  relief  to  come  out  from  it  into  the  seabreeze 
of  a  natural  expression  of  opinion  by  an  unaffected 
man.  The  classical  architecture  of  the  great  orations 
of  Burke  and  Sheridan  gives  them  the  form  of  impos¬ 
ing  structures,  monumental  structures,  beyond  doubt, 
but  we  are  not  so  sure  of  the  stability  of  their  founda¬ 
tions  ;  nor  are  we  confident  that  the  massive  phrases 
which  went  to  the  building  of  them  up  did  not  tend 
to  shut  out  a  good  deal  of  the  sunlight  of  truth  ;  and 
if  Captain  Burney’s  well-aimed  shots  went  through 
them  in  places,  letting  daylight  in  for  the  benefit  of 
generations  to  come,  we  cannot  but  feel  that  he  is 
deserving  of  gratitude. 

Perhaps  the  imagination  of  “honest  James”  was 
better  trained  than  that  of  Burke  himself,  the  expo¬ 
nent  of  “  the  sublime  and  beautiful,”  to  appreciate 
the  magnificent  work  that  Warren  Hastings  had 


MR.  BURKE  MAKES  HIS  SPEECH 


375 


accomplished  in  the  East — to  appreciate  the  great¬ 
ness  of  his  courage,  his  self-sacrifice,  his  ideals, 
as  we  would  say  nowadays,  in  snatching  a  great 
Empire  from  the  destruction  that  threatened  it  and 
holding  it  for  the  Great  Power  that  has  held  it  ever 
since. 

But  of  the  greatness  of  the  orations  that  accused 
the  idealist  of  using  for  the  accomplishment  of  his 
aims  weapons  instead  of  words  there  cannot  be  a 
question.  When  Windham  said  that  the  conclusion  of 
Burke’s  speech  was  “  the  noblest  ever  uttered  by 
man,”  he  expressed  an  opinion  that  the  greatest  critics 
of  oratory  have  endorsed.  But  we  know  that  he 
spoke  of  its  artistic  greatness  :  it  was  a  masterpiece 
of  the  art  of  oratory  judged  from  the  classical 
standards  of  criticism  of  that  art,  and  so  it  must 
ever  be  accounted.  It  was  conceived  and  delivered 
in  accordance  with  the  greatest  traditions  of 
the  art. 

Fanny  Burney’s  criticism  of  all  that  she  heard  of  it 
was  the  result  of  her  looking  at  it  from  the  same 
standpoint  of  the  classical  tradition.  “All  I  had 
heard  of  his  eloquence  and  all  I  had  conceived  of  his 
abilities  was  more  than  answered  by  his  perfor¬ 
mance,”  she  wrote.  “Nervous,  clear,  and  striking  was 
almost  all  that  he  uttered :  the  main  business  indeed  of 
his  coming  forth  was  frequently  neglected  and  not 
seldom  wholly  lost ;  but  his  excursions  were  so  fanciful, 
so  entertaining,  and  so  ingenious  that  no  miscellaneous 
hearer  like  myself  could  blame  them!  It  is  true  he 
was  unequal,  but  his  inequality  produced  an  effect 


376 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


which,  in  so  long  a  speech,  was  perhaps  preferable  to 
greater  consistency,  since,  though  it  lost  attention  in 
its  falling  off,  it  recovered  it  with  additional  energy 
by  some  ascent  unexpected  and  wonderful.  .  .  .  The 
sentiments  he  interspersed  were  as  nobly  conceived 
as  they  were  highly  coloured  ;  his  satire  had  a  poig¬ 
nancy  of  wit  that  made  it  as  entertaining  as  it  was 
penetrating;  his  allusions  and  quotations,  as  far  as 
they  were  English  and  within  my  reach,  were  apt 
and  ingenious,  and  the  wild  and  sudden  flights  of  his 
fancy,  bursting  forth  from  his  creative  imagination 
in  language  fluent,  forcible,  and  varied,  had  a  charm 
for  my  ear  and  my  attention  wholly  new  and 
perfectly  irresistible.” 

So  much  for  her  criticism  from  the  classical  and 
traditional  standpoint  of  oratory.  But  then  she 
changed  her  standpoint  and  considered  it  in  quite  a 
different  spirit. 

“  Were  talents  such  as  these  exercised  in  the 
service  of  truth,  unbiased  by  party  and  prejudice,  how 
could  we  sufficiently  applaud  their  exalted  possessor? 
But  though  frequently  he  made  me  tremble  by  his 
strong  and  horrible  representations,  his  own  violence 
recovered  me,  by  stigmatising  his  assertions  with 
personal  ill  will  and  designing  illiberality.” 

That  she  could  write  what  strikes  one  reading 
it  nowadays  as  being  an  admirably  sound  and  sane  de¬ 
scription  of  the  great  speech,  fresh  from  hearing  her 
brother’s  contemptuous  remarks  and  the  equally  curt 
and  pointed  criticism  of  another  man,  her  friend 
Crutchley,  who  had  heard  it  all — “A  comedy — no, 


MR.  BURKE  MAKES  HIS  SPEECH 


377 


a  farce;  ’tis  not  high  enough  for  a  comedy/’  cried 
Mr.  Crutchley.  “To  hear  a  man  rant  such  stuff!” 
— shows  how  well-balanced  were  her  mind  and 
judgment. 

She  was  not  hypnotised  by  Mr.  Burke’s  speech  ; 
and  she  went  a  long  way  to  show  the  orator  that 
this  was  so ;  for  when  Mr.  Burke,  the  hero  of  the 
day,  approached  her  and  bowed  “  with  the  most 
marked  civility  of  manner,”  her  return  of  his  courtesy 
was  “  the  most  ungrateful,  distant  and  cold.” 


FROM  WESTMINSTER  HALL  TO 
FAUCONBERG  HALL 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


FROM  WESTMINSTER  HALL  TO  FAUCONBERG  HALL 


HE  third  day  of  Miss  Burney’s  attendance  at 


JL  Westminster  Hall  gave  her  an  opportunity  of 
comparing  the  oratory  of  Burke  with  that  of  Fox. 
Fox  spoke  for  five  hours  “  in  a  fury,”  and  the  origin 
of  the  fury  was  a  decision  of  the  Lords,  who, 
Windham  declared,  were  determined  to  save  Hastings 
— a  monstrosity  that  called  for  all  the  fury  the  Man¬ 
agers  of  the  Prosecution  could  muster  at  a  moment’s 
notice.  Fanny  refrained  from  any  comment  upon 
the  substance  of  the  speeches,  confining  herself  to 
describing  the  impressions  that  each  produced  upon 
herself ;  and  the  result  of  listening  to  Fox  was  to 
convince  her  that  Burke  was  the  more  gentleman-like 
and  scholar-like  speaker. 

On  the  fourth  day  she  was  again  accompanied  by 
her  brother  James,  but  unhappily  she  did  not  quote 
any  of  the  comments  which  this  critic  may  have 
thought  fit  to  offer  upon  the  proceedings.  She  had 
not  much  more  than  entered  the  Hall,  however,  when 
Burke  went  to  her,  but  she  felt  bound  to  be  colder 
than  ever  in  her  attitude  to  him,  so  that  he  soon 
turned  away  from  her  to  talk  to  some  one  who  would 
certainly  not  allow  any  foolish  regard  she  might 


381 


382 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


have  for  a  man  of  fallen  fortunes  to  interfere  with  the 
warmth  of  her  reception  of  the  hero  of  the  hour. 
The  beautiful  Mrs.  Crewe  was  quite  ready  to  com¬ 
pensate  Burke  for  Miss  Burney’s  reserve.  But  before 
he  went  to  the  Managers’  box,  he  made  her  aware 
of  the  origin  of  one  of  the  most  telling  effects  in 
his  speech.  He  had  worked  himself  up  almost  to 
a  frenzy  of  passionate  declamation,  when  suddenly 
he  gasped,  and  there  was  a  terrible  pause.  His 
attempt  to  continue  seemed  likely  to  choke  him. 
The  suspense  of  his  audience  must  have  been  breath¬ 
less,  and  the  relief  intense  when  he  was  able  to 
proceed. 

And  what  was  the  explanation  ?  He  had  swallowed 
a  mouthful  of  cold  water,  and  in  his  excited  condi¬ 
tion  it  had  given  him  a  momentary  cramp  in  the 
stomach !  The  recipe  may  be  offered  to  other 
orators  anxious  to  produce  a  striking  effect  at  a 
trifling  inconvenience. 

When  Mr.  Burke  had  disappeared  Mr.  Windham 
came  to  her  side,  and  she  gave  him  a  more  detailed 
summary  of  her  impressions  of  Burke’s  great  speech 
than  she  had  written  to  her  sisters ;  and  reading 
this,  we  are  the  more  convinced  of  the  shrewdness 
of  the  comments  of  her  “honest  James.”  She  told 
Windham  that  at  first  she  was  so  carried  away  by 
Burke’s  narrative  of  murder  and  rapine  committed 
at  the  instigation  of  Hastings,  that  she  could  not 
even  glance  at  the  prisoner ;  but  when  the  orator 
proceeded  to  his  own  comments  and  declamation 
— when  the  charges  of  rapacity,  cruelty,  and  tyranny 


FROM  WESTMINSTER  TO  FAUCONBERG  383 


were  general  and  “made  with  all  the  violence  of 
personal  detestation,  and  continued  and  aggravated 
without  any  further  fact  or  illustration  ;  then  there 
appeared  more  of  study  than  of  truth,  more  of 
invective  than  of  justice  ;  and  in  short  so  little  of 
truth  to  so  much  of  passion,  that  in  a  very  short  time 
I  began  to  lift  up  my  head,  my  seat  was  no  longer 
uneasy,  my  eyes  were  indifferent  what  way  they 
looked,  or  what  object  caught  them  ;  before  I  was 
myself  aware  of  the  declension  of  Mr.  Burke’s  powers 
over  my  feelings,  I  found  myself  a  mere  spectator 
in  a  public  place,  and  looking  all  around  it  with 
my  opera-glass  in  my  hand  !  ” 

This  very  succinct  narrative  must  have  sounded 
terrible  in  the  ears  of  the  man  whose  ideal  was 
Burke  ;  but  he  contented  himself  by  saying,  “  I 
comprehend  you  perfectly.”  Fanny  was,  however, 
in  a  critical  vein,  for  she  hastened  to  tell  him  just 
what  she  thought  of  Fox’s  speech,  saying  that  she 
had  a  feeling  throughout  that  the  orator’s  passion 
was  factitious,  and  that  his  display  of  violent  in¬ 
dignation  left  her  quite  unmoved. 

Then  all  at  once  they  began  to  talk  about  Dr. 
Johnson,  and,  as  usual,  we  learn  more  of  what  we 
are  convinced  was  the  real  Johnson  from  these  records 
of  Fanny  Burney  than  we  do  after  wading  through 
a  volume  of  Boswell.  When  a  man  such  as  Windham 
could  affirm  that  “  there  is  nothing  for  which  I 
look  back  upon  myself  with  severer  discipline  than 
the  time  I  have  thrown  away  in  other  pursuits  that 
might  else  have  been  devoted  to  that  wonderful 


384 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


man,”  we  begin  to  understand  what  a  force  Dr. 
Johnson  really  was  in  England. 

Later  Sheridan  came  to  her  side,  and  him  she 
received  even  more  chillingly  than  she  had  done 
Burke  ;  but  he  showed  her  that  he  not  only  recollected 
meeting  her  at  Mrs.  Cholmondeley’s,  but  that  he 
recalled  the  advice  he  had  given  her  about  writing 
a  comedy.  Of  course  this  was  not  the  moment  for 
her  to  tell  him,  even  if  she  had  had  the  mind  to 
do  so,  that  she  had  taken  his  advice,  and  the  result 
had  been  pronounced  a  failure  by  two  critics  for  whom 
she  had  a  warm  regard  ;  so  after  a  compliment  about 
Cecilia  he  walked  away.  He  does  not  seem  to 
have  felt  very  deeply  Miss  Burney’s  coldness. 

Then  there  was  more  speaking  on  the  part  of 
Burke,  Fox,  and  others;  a  few  witnesses  were  ex¬ 
amined  by  these  gentlemen  with  a  view  to  bear  out 
the  charges  made  against  Hastings,  but  their  evidence 
was  so  distinctly  in  favour  of  the  accused  that  “  honest 
James”  was  set  chuckling  with  delight,  and  the 
Lord  Chancellor  and  other  lawyers  must  have  smiled 
at  the  lack  of  technical  acumen  on  the  part  of  the 
distinguished  Prosecutors  that  allowed  of  their 
examining  witnesses  without  becoming  familiar  with 
the  exact  nature  of  their  testimony,  or  how  far  they 
were  prepared  to  go. 

Although  Fanny  Burney  attended  the  celebrated 
trial  occasionally  as  it  dragged  on,  yet,  the  novelty 
of  it  having  worn  off,  she  makes  few  references  to 
it  of  any  length.  After  telling  Windham  how  anxious 
she  was  to  hear  his  speech — she  told  him  so  several 


WESTMINSTER  TO  FAUCONBERG 


385 


times — it  might  have  been  expected  that  she  would 
show  great  disappointment  when  he  mentioned  that 
the  charges  which  he  had  been  studying  with  a 
view  to  an  oration  had  been  abandoned  ;  but  she 
did  not  waste  much  time  expressing  her  vexation. 
It  so  happened,  however,  that  she  had  a  chance 
of  hearing  him  one  day  when  he  had  to  speak  upon 
the  question  of  admitting  certain  evidence,  and  the 
result  was  to  disappoint  her  extremely.  He  spoke 
badly  and  in  an  unpleasant  tone,  but  as  he  was  dealing 
with  some  technical  matters,  he  could  not  well  follow 
the  example  of  his  friends  in  straying  from  his  text. 
Indeed,  Mr.  Windham,  in  spite  of  the  attention  that 
he  paid  to  her  upon  every  day  they  met  at  the 
trial,  and  her  manifest  liking  for  him,  can  by  no 
means  be  said  to  come  well  out  of  the  case.  We 
have  an  impression  that  she  began  to  be  bored 
by  the  reiteration  of  his  praise  of  Burke.  Fanny 
agreed  with  him  throughout  so  cordially  that  he 
seems  to  have  suspected  her  honesty.  She  left  him 
in  no  doubt,  however,  as  to  what  was  her  opinion 
of  his  charge  against  the  judges  of  favouritism  for 
Hastings.  She  asked  him  if  it  was  possible  that 
he  could  be  serious  in  suggesting  that  Hastings 
had  bribed  the  Lords  to  be  on  his  side.  Why  should 
they  have  made  up  their  minds  to  this  before  the 
case  was  heard  ?  she  asked  him. 

“  From  the  general  knavery  and  villainy  of  man¬ 
kind,  which  always  wished  to  abet  successful  guilt,” 
was  his  reply ;  and  from  it  we  are  led  to  revise  some 
of  the  opinions  we  had  formed  of  Mr.  Windham’s 

26 


386 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


liberality  and  generosity.  At  any  rate  it  shows 
to  what  a  high  point  the  feeling  of  those  concerned 
in  the  case  went,  when  so  creditable  a  performer  as 
Windham  could  not  refrain  from  annexing  the 
favourite  policy  of  the  pettifogger  of  a  petty 
sessions. 

We  pass  with  some  relief  to  the  opening  day  of 
the  Defence,  when  the  same  policy  was  openly 
adopted  by  the  Managers.  But  in  spite  of  the 
evidence  which  they  had  before  them  of  the  character 
of  Hastings  they  showed  that  they  had  underrated 
his  determination.  Was  he  the  man  to  be  stopped 
in  a  speech  defending  his  own  honour — clearing 
himself  from  the  imputations  that  had  been  hurled 
at  him  by  the  violence  of  the  whole  box  of  Prose¬ 
cutors — because  of  some  technical  flaw  that  they 
found  in  his  address  ?  First  Mr.  Fox  rose,  then 
Mr.  Burke,  with  this  technical  objection  to  his  refer¬ 
ence  to  His  Majesty’s  Ministers. 

They  were  so  anxious  for  the  honour  of  His 
Majesty’s  Ministers,  these  members  of  His  Majesty’s 
Opposition,  that  they  felt  bound  to  stop  him.  Fanny 
Burney  describes  how  he  refused  to  suffer  their 
interruption.  He  declared  that  he  had  not  once 
interrupted  any  of  their  long  speeches  against  him, 
and  he  claimed  his  right  to  be  heard  without  a 
break.  They  persisted,  and  then  he  threw  out  his 
arms  “  in  an  impassioned  but  affecting  manner,” 
the  Diary  states,  while  he  called  out  loudly,  “  I 
throw  myself  upon  the  protection  of  your  Lord- 
ships.  ...  If  I  am  punished  for  what  I  say  I  must 


WESTMINSTER  TO  FAUCONBERG 


387 


insist  on  being  heard ! — I  call  upon  you,  my  Lords, 
to  protect  me  from  this  violence  !  ” 

Here  was  a  breath  of  the  real  thing — a  man  of 
action  demanding  the  right  to  defend  himself  in 
his  own  way — a  contrast  to  the  oratorical  flourishes 
of  the  men  of  words.  It  is  not  surprising  that  the 
attempts  of  the  Managers  to  carry  out  their  policy 
of  irritation  were  shouted  down  by  the  Lords. 
Lord  Chief  Justice  Kenyon,  who  represented  the 
Lord  Chancellor,  said:  “Mr.  Hastings,  proceed!” 
and  consternation  prevailed  among  the  orators  in 
the  Managers’  box.  Doubtless  they  laid  their  heads 
together  and  once  more  pretended  to  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  Lords  had  forsworn  themselves 
for  the  benefit  of  their  enemy,  and  to  abet  his 
villainy. 

Nothing  more  of  interest  was  Miss  Burney  able 
to  record  in  connection  with  the  great  trial,  and 
it  seems  that  in  this  respect  she  was  a  pretty  correct 
exponent  of  the  opinion  of  the  country  on  the  subject. 
After  eighty  days  of  orations  and  examinations 
concerning  incidents  long  past  and  gone — intermin¬ 
able  references  to  Rajahs  and  Begums  and  Ranees 
and  Sahibs  and  other  potentates  who  had  been 
impotent  to  withstand  the  strenuous  policy  of  the 
man  whose  genius  had  raised  him  from  the  humblest 
of  positions  to  the  highest,  and  whose  policy  had  made 
the  annexation  of  State  after  State  imperative,  the 
proceedings  of  the  trial  must  have  grown  intolerably 
tedious  to  the  public  and  even  to  the  instigators  of  the 
indictment.  The  oratorical  fireworks  had  become 


388 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


sodden,  though  it  took  five  years  for  the  final  fizzle 
to  be  reached ;  and  long  before  then  Burke  had 
found  the  French  Revolution  to  afford  him  a  better 
opportunity  for  declamation  than  the  impeachment 
had  ever  done.  His  references  to  the  unfortunate 
Marie  Antoinette  and  the  swords  that  would  have 
leapt  from  their  scabbards  to  avenge  the  least  slight 
done  to  her  who  was  at  the  mercy  of  a  mob,  are 
better  remembered  than  any  of  his  impassioned 
phrases  about  the  wrongs  of  the  greatest  of  the 
Begums. 

But  before  Fanny  Burney  had  paid  her  last  visit 
to  Westminster  Hall,  wrapped  carefully  up  by  the 
Queen’s  instructions — she  was  fitter  for  her  bed 
with  a  nurse  by  her  side — a  great  deal  had  happened 
for  her  to  record.  What  was  the  Hastings  trial 
in  comparison  with  the  tragic  incident  that  threatened 
England  when  it  became  known  that  the  King  was 
affected  by  the  most  terrible  malady  that  can  over¬ 
take  a  human  being  ? 

It  will  be  seen  that  Fanny  Burney,  during  these 
appalling  days  and  nights,  showed  herself  to  be  as 
attentive  an  observer  and  as  graphic  an  historian 
of  the  events  in  connection  with  this  crisis  as  she 
was  of  some  of  the  phases  of  the  Hastings  trial. 

But  during  the  months  preceding  the  King’s 
seizure,  as  well  as  after  his  temporary  recovery, 
she  proved  herself  just  too  competent  a  narrator  of 
the  proceedings  at  Westminster  Hall.  The  Queen 
soon  discovered  her  powers  in  this  direction ;  and 
not  thinking  it  advisable  to  attend  herself,  she  got 


WESTMINSTER  TO  FAUCONBERG 


389 


her  Robe-keeper  to  go  in  her  stead,  and,  on  her 
return,  recount  in  her  presence,  and  frequently  in 
the  presence  of  the  King  as  well,  all  that  had 
taken  place. 

It  was  rather  a  strain  on  Miss  Burney,  but  she 
did  not  mind  it,  since  it  was  the  means  of  bringing 
her  in  contact  with  some  of  the  members  of  her 
own  family  as  well  as  with  several  of  the  people 
with  whom  she  had  once  been  accustomed  to 
associate,  the  majority  of  them  living  on  decidedly 
a  higher  intellectual  plane  than  either  the  equerries 
in  attendance  on  the  King  or  the  ladies  in  attendance 
on  the  Queen — not  even  excepting  Elizabeth  Juliana 
Schwellenberg. 

Fanny  Burney  had  been  present  at  the  Hastings 
trial  before  the  summer  recess,  and  on  July  the  12th 
she  set  off  with  their  Majesties,  three  of  the  Princesses 
and  a  remarkably  meagre  staff  of  attendants  for 
Cheltenham.  The  King’s  health  had  not  been 
good  for  some  time,  and  his  physicians  prescribed 
a  course  of  the  “  waters  ”  for  him.  Bays  Hill 
Lodge,  or  Fauconberg  Hall,  as  it  is  called  in  the 
Diary,  was  the  only  house  in  the  neighbourhood 
that  would  accommodate  the  Royal  party  ;  but  if  the 
Royalties  were  accommodated  the  Household  was 
incommoded,  for  never  were  the  members  so  in¬ 
differently  housed.  The  place  was  indeed  quite 
inadequate  to  meet  the  strain  put  upon  it. 

“  This,  ma’am !  ”  cried  the  Robe-keeper,  when 
the  Queen  brought  her  to  the  room  allotted  to  Her 
Majesty;  “is  this  little  room  for  your  Majesty?” 


390 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


“  Oh,  stay  till  you  have  seen  your  own  before 
you  call  it  little !  ”  said  the  Queen,  laughing. 

But  still,  in  spite  of  countless  inconveniences, 
the  whole  party  contrived  to  lodge  in  this  house 
for  several  weeks. 

The  Diarist  found  very  little  worth  recording 
in  connection  with  this  visit.  So  far  as  she  her¬ 
self  was  concerned  we  find  the  tea-room  question 
coming  to  the  front  once  more.  Where  were  the 
suite  to  have  tea  together? 

They  decided  to  take  possession  of  a  small  passage 
for  this  purpose,  but  Fanny  determined  that  she 
would  no  longer  allow  the  playing  of  the  part  of 
Prdsidente  to  be  among  her  duties.  She  would 
insist  on  having  her  afternoons  all  to  herself. 

And  just  when  she  had  made  this  resolution  her 
servant  came  to  her  to  say  that  “  Mr.  Fairly”  (Colonel 
Digby)  wished  to  speak  with  her.  She  saw  him 
and  found  that  he  came  to  beg  that  he  and  Lord 
Courtown  might  join  her  tea-table  for  that  evening 
only  ;  in  future  they  meant  to  give  orders  to  be 
served  in  their  own  apartments,  so  as  not  to  obtrude 
upon  the  privileges  of  her  retirement. 

“The  first  instance  I  have  met  now  for  two  whole 
years  of  being  understood  as  to  my  own  retiring 
inclinations,”  wrote  Fanny,  “and  it  is  singular  that 
I  should  first  meet  with  it  from  the  only  person 
who  makes  them  waver.” 

She  admitted  him  and  Lord  Courtown,  and  in 
a  short  time  the  King  entered  with  Colonel  Gwyn 
and  remained  for  an  hour.  When  all  were  at  last 


WESTMINSTER  TO  FAUCONBERG 


391 


on  the  point  of  leaving,  Digby  hung  back  and 
asked  leave  to  remain  a  little  longer,  and  although 
she  had  plenty  to  do  in  the  way  of  unpacking,  she 
granted  his  request. 

But  they  had  scarcely  begun  their  chat  when  the 
King  returned  and  seemed  surprised  to  find  them 
together. 

“  What !  only  you  two  !  ”  he  cried  with  a  knowing 
look,  and  then,  after  giving  some  instructions  about  a 
letter,  strolled  away. 

“  I  had  rather  His  Majesty  had  made  such  a 
comment  upon  any  other  of  his  establishment,  if  make 
it  he  must ;  since  I  am  sure  Mr.  Fairly ’s  aversion  to 
that  species  of  raillery  is  equal  to  my  own,”  she  wrote. 

But  from  the  number  of  times  that  “  Mr.  Fairly  s  ” 
name  occurs  in  her  records  of  that  visit  to  Cheltenham 
it  would  be  difficult  to  see  how  such  raillery  could  be 
avoided.  We  might  venture  to  indulge  in  some 
ourselves  at  this  place,  without  being  guilty  of  any 
grossness  ;  for  certainly  her  “  Mr.  Fairly  ”  was  pretty 
frequently  en  Evidence  in  her  tea-room. 

But  a  drearier  associate  it  would  have  been  difficult, 
we  think,  for  her  to  find.  Mr.  Guiffardiere,  on  her 
return,  was  guilty  of  discharging  some  shafts  of  raillery 
against  her,  hinting  at  having  heard  of  certain  flirta¬ 
tions  of  hers  at  Cheltenham  ;  but  so  far  as  the  equerry 
was  concerned  it  may  be  said  that  his  essays  in 
flirtation  were  of  the  mildest  and  most  tentative  type. 
At  the  same  time  Fanny’s  record  of  how  agreeable  to 
her  were  the  hours  spent  in  his  society  must  be 
accepted  as  sincere,  and,  as  we  have  already  suggested, 


392 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


these  hours  may  have  included  some  moments  of 
unrecorded  tenderness.  Had  it  not  been  so  we  must 
confess  we  should  be  unable  to  understand  how  she 
could  find  Colonel  Digby  anything  beyond  the  most 
lugubrious  of  associates.  It  must  be  remembered  that 
the  confidences  of  her  Diary-letters  had  their  limits. 
She  did  not  regard  the  covers  of  her  Diary  as 
equivalent  to  the  sides  of  a  confessional ;  and  no  one 
had  a  more  delicate  sense  of  what  should  be  recorded 
and  what  reserved  than  herself. 

Colonel  Digby  was  a  widower  of  the  conscientious 
type,  who  was  apt  to  think  it  right  to  prolong  rather 
than  to  curtail  his  days  of  mourning  ;  but  a  critical 
consideration  of  Fanny  Burney’s  account  of  those 
weeks  at  Cheltenham,  as  well  as  the  businesslike  way 
in  which  she  made  her  subsequent  entries  respecting 
his  marriage,  will,  we  believe,  tend  to  the  impression 
that  he  approached  very  close  to  the  boundary  that 
separates  friendship  from  love.  We  feel  that  now  and 
again  he  was  on  the  verge  of  winding  up  some  of  his 
moralisings  with  a  proposal — not  exactly  a  definite 
proposal  of  marriage,  but  a  proposal  that  the  question 
of  a  marriage  might  be  considered  as  awaiting  them  at 
some  date  in  the  future.  This  is  really  the  form  that 
seems  most  appropriate  to  the  style  of  cautious 
converse  indulged  in — a  most  virtuous  form  of 
indulgence — by  this  most  gentlemanly  official. 

And  Fanny  had  certainly  come  to  like  him  greatly. 
He  had  most  of  those  qualities  which  she  considered 
most  excellent  in  a  man,  and  he  carried  with  him  the 
aura  of  a  recent  bereavement.  They  breathed  together 


WESTMINSTER  TO  FAUCONBERG 


393 


an  atmosphere  of  plaintive  sentiment,  and  her  yearn¬ 
ing  to  console  him  may  have  been  quite  as  strong 
as  his  undoubted  yearning  for  consolation  from  — 
well,  from  some  sympathetic  woman. 

Only  on  such  an  assumption  can  we  accept  her 
assurances  of  the  happiness  she  felt  in  his  constant 
visits  to  her  room.  He  discussed  various  questions 
with  her,  and  they  read  side  by  side  Combe’s  Original 
Love  Letters  between  a  Lady  of  Quality  and  a  Person 
of  Superior  Condition.  He  left  the  second  volume 
with  her,  and  she  put  it  into  her  workbox.  He 
repeated  to  her  several  passages  from  the  Pleasures 
of  Imagination,  and  one  day  when  she  was  sitting 
with  Miss  Planta  he  asked  them  if  they  had  ever 
read  Falconer’s  Shipwreck.  As  neither  of  them  had  had 
that  advantage,  he  sent  a  servant  to  his  house  for  the 
book,  and  when  the  man  brought  it,  he  laid  it  beside 
Fanny,  saying  he  would  leave  it  with  her.  At  this 
moment  Miss  Planta  thought  she  would  do  well  to  stroll 
round  the  house  for  a  little  exercise.  (This  is  a  very 
suggestive  entry  in  the  Diary  :  it  was  plain  that  Miss 
Planta  had  eyes  and  a  sympathetic  understanding.)  The 
moment  that  the  Colonel  was  alone  with  Fanny  he 
picked  up  the  book,  saying,  “  Shall  I  read  some 
passages  to  you  ?  ”  She  gladly  assented,  and  began  to 
do  some  plain  needlework.  In  a  moment  he  was 
deep  in  the  “  Palemon  and  Anna  ”  episode,  stopping 
and  sighing  when  he  came  to  the  line — 

“  He  felt  the  chastity  of  silent  woe.” 

His  sadness  quite  affected  her,  she  confesses  ;  and 


394 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


encouraged  by  her  sympathy  he  went  on.  But,  alas ! 
the  time  soon  came  for  her  to  relinquish  the  pleasure 
of  listening  to  him,  for  she  had  to  go  to  her  room  to 
await  the  usual  toilette  summons  from  the  Queen. 
But  he  asked  her  if  he  should  leave  the  poem  with 
her  or — perhaps  he  might  take  it  with  him  in  case  she 
might  have  leisure  to  hear  him  read  the  remainder 
of  it  the  next  day.  On  the  whole  he  thought  that 
he  would  do  well  to  take  it  on  such  a  chance ;  and  so 
they  separated. 

Now  though  the  account  of  this  reading  in  the 
atmosphere  that  pervades  a  solitude  a  deux  emanating 
from  a  poem  of  sentiment,  is  rather  different  from  that 
recorded  in  deathless  verse,  when  the  subject  was  the 
story  of  Lancelot  and  Guinevere,  and  the  hearts  of  the 
readers  leapt  together  in  the  passionate  kiss  that  was 
the  instinctive  sequel  to  the  kiss  of  passion  in  the 
Florentine  tome,  so  that — 

“  Quel  giorno  non  vi  piu  legemmo  avanti,” 

sighed  the  lost  soul  of  the  other  Fanny — the  Francesca 
of  Dante — yet  we  feel  that  there  is  a  trace  of  the  aroma 
of  the  same  spirit  of  romance  about  it.  But  nothing 
came  of  The  Shipwi'eck  more  than  of  Pleasures  of 
Imagination.  He  came  again  and  completed  the 
episode  in  the  former,  but  that  was  all. 

And  yet  she  could  cry,  referring  to  the  reading, 
“  How  unexpected  an  indulgence — a  luxury  I  may  say, 
to  me,  are  these  evenings  now  becoming !  I  have  had 
no  regale  like  this  for  many  and  many  a  grievous  long 
evening.” 


WESTMINSTER  TO  FAUCONBERG 


395 


He  left  her  at  ten  o’clock,  begging  her  not  to  tell 
any  one  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  carrying  a  volume 
of  poems  to  read  to  her,  for  should  it  be  known,  he 
would  run  the  chance  of  being  regarded  as  a  pedant. 

She  kept  his  secret ;  but  even  of  the  sympathy  that 
arises  from  the  sharing  of  a  secret,  nothing  came. 
There  is  talk  of  a  premonition  of  an  attack  of  gout  on 
the  part  of  the  gentleman,  and  more  than  a  premonition 
of  neuralgia,  and  the  end  of  the  Cheltenham  episode 
from  which  so  much  might  have  been  hoped,  shows 
us  Fanny  recovering  from  an  attack  of  influenza  and 
the  equerry  limping  off  with  a  swollen  face. 

He  would  have  made  a  “  mighty  puir  ”  Paolo. 


■ 


- 


■ 


A  REIGN  OF  TERROR 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


A  REIGN  OF  TERROR 

ME  LA  N  C  H  O  L  Y — most  m  elancholy —  was  the 
return  to  Windsor,”  wrote  Miss  Burney. 
She  had  had  pleasant  days  in  that  small  house  at 
Cheltenham.  There  had  been  the  liveliness  of  theatre¬ 
going,  which  she  describes  most  delightfully — the 
liveliness  of  Mr.  Bunbury,  who  came  with  the  Duke  of 
York  to  talk  of  theatre  people  to  his  heart’s  content 
— the  liveliness  of  new  faces  about  her.  The  paternal 
affection  of  the  King  for  his  favourite  son  caused  him 
actually  to  get  a  house  built  for  his  accommodation 
against  one  of  the  walls  of  Fauconberg  Hall.  It 
was  of  wood,  and  it  was  made  in  Cheltenham  and 
brought  out  bit  by  bit  to  its  site,  the  task  occupying 
twenty  or  thirty  men  a  fortnight.  The  filial  affection 
of  the  Prince  enabled  him  to  remain  exactly  one  night 
under  its  roof.  They  all  went  to  the  theatre  together. 
It  may  be  mentioned  incidentally  that  Mrs.  Jordan 
was  the  “  star.” 

All  these  delights — “ease,  leisure,  elegant  society, 
and  interesting  communications  ” — were  to  be  ex¬ 
changed  for  “arrogant  manners,  contentious  disputa¬ 
tion,  and  arbitrary  ignorance.”  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  met 
her  with  all  these  qualities  in  addition  to  the  customary 

399 


400 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


Schwellenberg  vulgarity.  The  usual  dull  routine  of 
bickerings  and  birthdays  and  weekly  flittings  from 
the  barrenness  of  Windsor  to  the  dullness  of  Kew 
began,  and  then  came  an  episode  so  terrific  in  its 
import  that  all  minor  matters  were  neglected  while 
it  lasted. 

It  was  on  October  17,  1788,  that  the  first 
whisper  of  the  King’s  malady  was  heard.  The 
Royal  Family  were  in  residence  at  Kew,  and  their 
return  to  Windsor  had  to  be  postponed.  His 
Majesty’s  health  had  not  been  good  for  some  time, 
Miss  Burney  wrote,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be 
alarmed  about,  though  there  was  some  uncertainty  as 
to  his  complaint — perhaps  she  had  heard  a  rumour  that 
disconcerted  her — perhaps  she  had  heard  sounds 
coming  through  a  half-open  door  that  gave  her  a 
shock.  She  was,  however,  discreet.  “  Heaven 
preserve  him  !  ”  she  whispers,  when  she  hears  that 
there  is  a  further  postponement  of  the  return.  This 
was  on  the  Saturday.  On  the  Monday  she  makes 
the  entry  that  the  King  had  been  ill  during  the  night, 
and  everybody  was  terribly  frightened  ;  “  but  it  went 
off  and,  thank  Heaven!  he  is  now  better!” 

At  the  end  of  the  week  he  was  reported  to  be  so 
much  better  that  the  journey  to  Windsor  took  place. 
But  on  this  Saturday  he  met  Fanny  and  spoke  to  her 
“  with  a  manner  so  uncommon  that  a  high  fever 
could  alone  account  for  it ;  a  rapidity,  a  hoarseness  of 
voice,  a  volubility,  an  earnestness — a  vehemence 
rather — it  startled  me  inexpressibly.  .  .  .  Heaven — 
Heaven  preserve  him  !  The  Queen  grows  more  and 


A  REIGN  OF  TERROR 


401 


more  uneasy.  She  alarms  me  sometimes  for  myself,  at 
other  times  she  has  a  sedateness  that  wonders  me  still 
more.”  * 

This  is  the  beginning  of  a  record  which  naturally 
surpasses  in  importance  any  that  she  had  reason  to 
make  during  her  residence  at  Court.  It  is  so  interest¬ 
ing  in  every  line  that  we  do  not  pause  to  wonder  how 
much  took  place  under  her  eyes  that  she  did  not  think 
her  duty  to  the  Queen  permitted  of  her  committing 
to  paper.  We  recognise  the  debt  that  is  due  to  her 
for  a  narrative  of  the  approach  of  a  shadow  that 
threatened  to  darken  not  only  the  Palace  but  the 
whole  of  England  as  well,  written  with  matchless 
skill — a  narrative  told  with  simplicity,  sincerity,  and  a 
graphic  power  that  was  at  the  command  of  no  other 
English  writer  of  the  period. 

All  unconsciously  she  contrives  from  the  first  to 
arouse  our  interest,  hinting  at  the  mysteriousness 
of  the  malady.  She  tells  how  the  King  met  her 
again  on  the  Sunday.  He  had  been  prevailed  on 
not  to  go  as  usual  to  early  chapel,  and  we  see  him 
wandering  solitary  about  the  passages.  We  seem  to 
see  the  attendants  standing  back  in  their  rooms, 
whispering  as  he  passes,  opening  the  doors  silently 
and  looking  furtively  after  him.  Suddenly  Fanny  came 
upon  him  when  in  the  act  of  leaving  the  Queen’s 
room.  He  stopped  her  and  stood  telling  her  about 
his  health  for  nearly  half  an  hour,  speaking  with 
extraordinary  rapidity  and  not  pausing  for  a  second. 
There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  him,  he  assures  her 
— and  that  is  the  most  terrifying  part  of  it  all — 

27 


402 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


nothing,  only  that  he  cannot  sleep  a  minute  all  night. 
He  is  in  great  agitation  on  this  account,  but  he  makes 
gracious  references  to  everybody  and  is  deliriously 
uneasy  lest  he  should  give  trouble  ;  and  so  he  walks 
on,  leaving  her  in  the  certainty  that  he  is  in  the  throes 
of  a  high  fever. 

And  in  the  Queen’s  Lodge  no  one  speaks  of 
the  illness.  It  is  understood  that  the  subject  is  to  be 
ignored. 

A  few  days  later  and  she  has  to  record  that  the 
King  is  gaining  ground,  and  that  consequently  the 
Queen  is  easier  in  her  mind.  But  before  many  days 
are  over  he  has  become  so  weak  that  he  walks  like  a 
gouty  man,  yet  he  has  talked  away  without  the  cessa¬ 
tion  of  a  moment  and  he  is  thus  terribly  hoarse. 
“  God  send  him  better  !  ”  she  cries.  When  she  goes 
to  the  Queen  she  finds  her  reading  one  of  Hunter’s 
sacred  Lectures.  It  seems  to  be  a  relief  to  her  to 
read  it  out  to  her  Robe-keeper.  But  at  some  pathetic 
passages  she  is  moved  to  tears  and  is  ashamed  of  her 
weakness.  “  How  nervous  I  am !  ”  she  cried.  “  I 
am  quite  a  fool!  Don’t  you  think  so?” 

“‘No,  ma’am,’  was  all  I  dared  answer,”  writes 
Fanny. 

The  King  was  out  hunting  at  this  time — an 
enormous  responsibility  the  poor  equerries  must  have 
felt  in  looking  after  him — and  when  he  returned  he 
went  to  the  Queen’s  dressing-room  to  take  his  bark — 
he  was  apparently  being  treated  for  fever  by  Dr. 
Baker,  who  considered  the  old-fashioned  bark  to  be  a 
better  febrifuge  than  James’s  Powders,  though  the 


A  REIGN  OF  TERROR 


403 


Royal  Family  had  faith  in  the  latter.  He  was  in 
the  Queen’s  room  with  Lady  Effingham,  when  he 
remarked,  “  My  dear  Effy,  you  see  me  all  at  once 
an  old  man  !  ” 

“We  must  all  grow  old,  sir!  I  am  sure  I  do,” 
replied  the  tactful  Duchess. 

But  His  Majesty  did  not  mind.  He  swallowed  his 
draught,  and  looking  toward  the  Queen,  said,  “  She  is 
my  physician,  and  no  man  need  have  a  better ;  she  is 
my  friend ’  and  no  man  can  have  a  better !  ” 

Very  touching  indeed  is  this  and  every  other  entry 
in  her  Diary  relating  to  the  approach  of  the  crisis. 
Whenever  Fanny  has  a  chance  of  seeing  the  King 
he  is  talking — talking — talking.  But  his  condition 
varies  for  some  time.  One  day  he  seems  much  better, 
the  next  he  is  worse  than  ever,  and  Dr.  Heberden  is 
called  in.  After  the  lapse  of  some  days  the  Prince 
of  Wales  arrives  from  Brighton.  Gradually,  very 
gradually,  the  horror  approaches  ;  and  nothing  that 
she  had  ever  done  in  fiction  equals  in  effect  the  simple 
record  of  all  that  Fanny  Burney  noticed  from  day  to 
day.  Most  touching  of  all  her  entries  are  those 
relating  to  the  Queen.  “The  Queen,”  she  writes, 
“  is  almost  overpowered  with  some  secret  terror.  I 
am  affected  beyond  all  expression  in  her  presence  to 
see  what  struggles  she  makes  to  support  her  serenity. 
To-day  she  gave  up  the  conflict  when  I  was  alone 
with  her,  and  burst  into  a  violent  fit  of  tears.  It  was 
very,  very  terrible  to  see  !  .  .  .  something  horrible 
seemed  impending  ...  I  was  still  wholly  unsus¬ 
picious  of  the  greatness  of  the  cause  she  had  for 


404 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


dread.  Illness,  a  breaking  up  of  the  constitution,  the 
payment  of  sudden  infirmity  and  premature  old  age 
for  the  waste  of  unguarded  health  and  strength — these 
seemed  to  me  the  threats  awaiting  her ;  and  great  and 
grievous  enough,  yet  how  short  of  the  fact !  ” 

At  last  the  terrible  truth  was  revealed.  Miss 
Burney  sat  dining  with  Miss  Planta,  but  there  was 
little  conversation  between  them.  It  was  clear  that 
both  had  their  suspicions  of  the  nature  of  the  dread 
shadow  that  was  hovering  over  the  Castle.  They 
remained  together,  waiting  for  the  worst.  “A  still¬ 
ness  the  most  uncommon  reigned  over  the  whole 
house.  Nobody  stirred  ;  not  a  voice  was  heard;  not 
a  motion.  I  could  do  nothing  but  watch,  not 
knowing  for  what ;  there  seemed  a  strangeness  in  the 
house  most  extraordinary.” 

To  talk  of  such  passages  as  these  as  examples  of 
literary  art  would  be  ridiculous.  They  are  transcripts 
from  life  itself,  made  by  some  one  with  a  genius  for 
observation,  not  merely  for  recording.  Fanny 
Burney  had  the  artist’s  instinct  for  collecting  only 
such  incidents  as  heighten  the  effect. 

When  she  is  still  sitting  in  the  dim  silence  of  that 
November  evening  with  her  friend,  some  one  enters 
to  whisper  that  there  is  to  be  no  playing  of  the  after- 
dinner  music  in  which  the  King  usually  took  so  much 
pleasure.  Later  the  equerries  come  slowly  into  the 
room.  There  is  more  whispering — more  head¬ 
shaking.  What  was  it  all  about  ?  Had  anything 
happened?  What  had  happened?  No  one  wishes 
to  be  the  first  to  speak.  But  the  suspense !  The 


A  REIGN  OF  TERROR 


405 


strain  upon  the  nerves  of  the  two  ladies !  At  last  it 
can  be  borne  no  longer.  The  dreadful  revelation  is 
made.  The  King  is  demented. 

She  heard  the  whole  story  from  Colonel  Digby. 
At  dinner,  the  Prince  of  Wales  being  present, 
His  Majesty  had  broken  forth  into  positive  delirium, 
and  the  Queen  was  so  overpowered  as  to  fall  into 
violent  hysterics.  All  the  Princesses  were  in  misery, 
and  the  Prince  of  Wales  had  burst  into  tears.  (Years 
afterward  he  declared  that  the  King  had  attacked  and 
almost  throttled  him.)  No  one  knew  what  was  to 
follow — no  one  could  conjecture  the  event.  Nothing 
could  be  more  pathetic  than  the  concern  of  the  King 
for  his  wife.  His  delusion  was  that  she  was  the 
sufferer.  When  Fanny  Burney  went  to  her  own  room, 
where  she  was  accustomed  to  await  her  nightly 
summons  to  attend  Her  Majesty,  she  remained  there 
alone  for  two  hours.  At  midnight  she  can  stand  the 
suspense  no  longer.  She  opens  the  door  and  listens 
in  the  passage.  Not  a  sound  is  to  be  heard.  Not 
even  a  servant  crossed  the  stairs  on  the  corridor 
off  which  her  apartment  opened.  After  another 
hour’s  suspense  a  page  knocks  at  her  door  with  the 
message  that  she  is  to  go  at  once  to  her  Royal 
mistress. 

“  My  poor  Royal  mistress  !  ”  she  writes.  “  Never 
can  I  forget  her  countenance — pale,  ghastly  pale  she 
looked  .  .  .  her  whole  frame  was  disordered,  yet  she 
was  still  and  quiet.  And  the  poor  King  is  dreadfully 
uneasy  about  her.  Nothing  was  the  matter  with  him¬ 
self,  he  affirmed,  except  nervousness  on  her  account. 


406 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


He  insisted  on  having  a  bed  made  up  for  himself  in 
her  dressing-room  in  order  that  he  might  be  at  hand 
should  she  become  worse  during  the  night.”  He  had 
given  orders  that  Miss  Goldsworthy  was  to  remain 
with  her ;  but  it  seemed  that  he  had  no  great  confi¬ 
dence  in  the  vigilance  of  any  one  but  himself,  for 
some  hours  after  the  Queen  had  retired,  he  appeared 
at  the  door  before  the  eyes  of  the  horrified  lady-in- 
waiting,  bearing  a  lighted  candle.  He  opened  the 
bed  curtains  and  satisfied  himself  that  his  dread  of  the 
Queen’s  being  carried  out  of  the  place  was  unfounded; 
but  he  did  not  leave  the  room  for  another  half-hour, 
and  “the  terror  of  the  scene  completely  overwhelmed 
the  unhappy  lady.” 

Truly,  when  this  terror  was  walking  by  night  Fanny 
Burney’s  stipend  was  well  earned. 

Not  until  November  the  13th  was  there  any  sign 
of  improvement  in  the  King’s  condition.  The  Prince 
of  Wales  remained  at  the  Castle.  He  had  ap¬ 
parently  taken  upon  himself  the  arranging  of 
everything,  and  this  meant  a  good  deal  of  derange¬ 
ment.  People  were  turned  out  of  their  rooms  in 
the  Queen’s  Lodge,  and  orders  were  given  to  the 
porter  that  only  certain  persons  were  to  be  permitted 
to  cross  the  threshold.  The  favourite  tea-room 
was  assigned  to  the  physicians,  and  the  general 
confusion  of  the  Household  became  worse  con¬ 
founded.  Colonel  Digby,  who  had  succeeded  in 
controlling  the  King  one  night  when  every  one 
else  had  shrunk  from  the  attempt,  was  sent  by  the 
Queen  to  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  to  order 


A  REIGN  OF  TERROR 


407 


a  special  prayer  to  be  made  on  behalf  of  the 
monarch. 

But  the  promise  of  amendment  was  not  realised. 
On  the  1 6th  the  King  was  worse.  He  had  passed 
a  shocking  night  and  the  most  dangerous  symptoms 
had  manifested  themselves.  “  Oh,  good  heavens ! 
what  a  day  did  this  prove,”  wrote  Fanny.  “  I  saw 
not  a  human  face  save  at  dinner  ;  and  then,  what 
faces !  gloom  and  despair  in  all !  ” 

Three  days  later  Sir  Lucas  Pepys,  who  had 
frequently  met  Fanny  at  the  Thrales’,  was  called 
in,  and  she  sent  a  message  to  him  begging  him 
to  come  to  her.  He  complied,  and  was  able  to 
give  her  a  most  hopeful  prognosis.  The  King 
would  most  certainly  recover,  he  affirmed.  The 
process  might  be  long  and  tedious,  but  he  spoke 
with  absolute  confidence  as  to  its  termination.  He 
reiterated  his  opinion  even  when  there  were  repeated 
changes  for  the  worse,  and  his  optimism  must  have 
been  a  source  of  consolation  to  his  colleagues  as 
well  as  to  Miss  Burney  and  the  Queen,  for  he  told 
Fanny  that  all  the  physicians  received  threatening 
letters  daily,  “  to  answer  for  the  safety  of  the 
monarch  with  their  lives,”  so  high  ran  the  tide  of 
loyal  affection  throughout  the  country.  A  mob 
had  already  stopped  the  carriage  of  Sir  George 
Baker,  and  he  was  asked  to  give  an  account  of 
the  King.  When  he  said  that  he  could  only  give 
a  bad  one,  they  furiously  exclaimed  “  The  more 
shame  to  you  !  ”  This  was  the  attitude  of  the  mob 
in  England  on  the  eve  of  the  Revolution  in  France, 


408 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


when  the  King  and  Queen  were  dragged  to  the 
guillotine  by  their  own  subjects  ! 

Who  was  accountable  for  the  determination  to 
move  the  sufferer  to  Kew  does  not  appear.  But 
before  this  step  could  be  taken  a  Privy  Council 
had  to  be  held  and  the  Queen’s  sanction  given 
to  it.  Knowing  as  she  did  how  greatly  the  King 
detested  Kew,  she  was  reluctant  at  first  to  with¬ 
draw  her  opposition  to  the  scheme,  but  apparently 
the  advantages  of  the  gardens  at  Kew,  where  His 
Majesty  might  take  exercise  in  perfect  privacy, 
were  pointed  out  to  her,  and  the  removal  was 
decided  on. 

Graphic  indeed  is  the  account  given  in  the  Diary 
of  the  flight  to  Kew.  It  seemed  to  be  nobody’s 
business  to  make  any  preparation  for  the  reception 
of  the  Queen  and  her  entourage.  The  rooms  were 
dirty  and  unwarmed  and  the  corridors  were  freezing. 
And  to  the  horrors  of  this  damp,  unsavoury  barracks 
was  added  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.  The  odious  creature 
is  “  so  oppressed  between  her  spasms  and  the  house’s 
horrors,  that  the  oppression  she  inflicted  ought 
perhaps  to  be  pardoned.  It  was,  however,  difficult 
enough  to  bear,”  Fanny  adds.  “  Harshness,  tyranny, 
dissension,  and  even  insult  seemed  personified.  I 
cut  short  the  details  upon  this  subject — they  would 
but  make  you  sick.” 

Truly  little  Miss  Burney  earned  her  wages  at  this 
time.  The  dilapidated  palace  was  only  rendered 
habitable  by  the  importation  by  the  thoughtful 
Colonel  Digby  of  a  cartload  of  sandbags,  which 


A  REIGN  OF  TERROR 


409 


were  as  strategically  distributed  for  the  exclusion 
of  the  draughts  as  if  they  had  been  the  usual  defensive 
supply  of  a  siege.  But  even  this  ingenious  device 
failed  to  neutralise  the  Arctic  rigours  of  the  place. 
The  providing  of  carpets  for  some  of  the  bare  floors 
of  the  bedrooms  and  passages  was  a  startling  inno¬ 
vation  ;  but  eventually  it  was  carried  out.  An 
occasional  set  of  curtains  was  also  smuggled  into 
this  frozen  fairy  palace,  and  a  sofa  came  now  and 
again.  But  in  spite  of  all  these  auxiliaries  to  luxury — 
in  spite,  too,  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg’s  having  locked 
herself  into  her  room,  forbidding  any  one  to  disturb 
her — the  dreariness  and  desolation  of  the  December 
at  Kew  must  have  caused  Miss  Burney  to  think 
with  longing  of  her  father’s  home  in  St.  Martin’s 
Street  and  of  the  congenial  atmosphere  which  she 
breathed  during  her  numerous  visits  to  the  Thrales’ 
solid  mansion  at  Streatham. 

But  during  the  first  days  of  December  a  step  was 
taken  which  should  have  been  taken  a  month  earlier, 
when  the  first  symptoms  of  the  King’s  malady  had 
become  apparent.  An  expert  in  mental  diseases 
was  called  in  ;  and  with  the  change  of  treatment, 
an  improvement  in  his  condition  was  at  once  shown. 
Dr.  Francis  Willis  was  the  “specialist,”  as  we  should 
call  him.  He  was  well  equipped  for  his  duty.  He 
could  not  have  asked  to  be  excused  from  undertaking 
it  on  the  plea  that  was  so  eloquently  advanced  by  an 
earlier  practitioner  in  an  appeal  made  by  a  monarch 
to  “  minister  to  a  mind  diseased  ” — that  some  cases 
need  “more  the  divine  than  the  physician,”  for  he 


410 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


was  himself  in  Holy  Orders,  being  Rector  of  St. 
John’s,  Wapping.  He  had  a  private  asylum  in 
Lincolnshire,  where  he  was  assisted  by  his  son,  John. 
Both  father  and  son  were  summoned  to  Kew,  where 
they  created  a  good  impression  upon  every  one  with 
whom  they  came  in  contact.  Digby  described  them 
to  Fanny  as  “  fine,  lively,  natural,  independent 
characters  ” ;  and  on  her  becoming  acquainted  with 
them  herself  she  was  greatly  impressed  by  them. 
The  father  she  considered  “a  man  of  ten  thousand; 
open,  honest,  dauntless,  lighthearted,  innocent,  and 
high-minded.”  The  son  she  thought  “extremely 
handsome,”  inheriting  “  in  a  middle  degree  ”  all  the 
excellent  qualities  of  his  father  ;  but  he  was  not, 
she  thought,  of  an  equally  sanguine  temperament. 
“  The  manners  of  both  are  extremely  pleasing  and 
they  both  proceed  completely  their  own  way,  not 
merely  unacquainted  with  Court  etiquette,  but  wholly, 
and  most  artlessly,  unambitious  to  form  any  such 
acquaintance.” 

Such  were  the  admirable  father  and  son  whose 
presence  by  the  side  of  the  King  was  made  the 
subject  of  more  of  Burke’s  rhetoric.  Their  appoint¬ 
ment  was  actually  referred  to  as  a  gross  piece  of 
impiety,  suggesting,  as  it  did,  a  wicked  rebellion 
against  the  decree  of  the  Almighty,  who,  according 
to  Burke,  had  “  hurled  the  monarch  from  his 
throne.” 

It  would  seem  as  if  Burke  thought  that  the  Court 
Register  wras  the  official  guide  recognised  by  the 
Power  to  Whom  he  referred,  and  Who  would  resent 


A  REIGN  OF  TERROR 


411 


as  a  personal  affront  any  attempt  to  effect  a  cure  of 
the  King  except  through  the  legitimate  channel  of  a 
Court  physician.  A  party  politician  cannot  as  a  rule 
be  accepted  as  a  trustworthy  interpreter  of  the  decrees 
of  Providence.  Burke’s  aim  at  the  moment  was  only 
to  bring  discredit  upon  Pitt  and  the  Ministry,  and 
embarrass  them  as  much  as  possible,  and  as  it  has 
always  been  regarded  the  constitutional  privilege 
of  the  Opposition  to  discredit  the  Government,  his 
pronouncements  on  Pitt  and  Providence  should 
not  have  been  taken  too  seriously.  They  probably 
were  not. 

What  Fanny  Burney  felt  much  more  deeply  than 
Burke’s  ranting  was  the  cruel  slander  that  was 
circulated  to  the  effect  that  the  Queen  was  in 
some  way  responsible  for  the  crisis  that  had  come 
about  in  regard  to  the  establishment  of  a  Regency. 
“  My  poor  mistress  now  droops,”  she  wrote.  “  I 
grieve — grieve  to  see  her!  But  her  own  name  and 
conduct  called  in  question !  Who  can  wonder  she 
is  shocked  and  shaken  ?  ” 

Variable  are  the  accounts  from  day  to  day  of  the 
King’s  condition  during  the  last  days  of  December, 
1788  ;  and  between  the  7th  and  13th  of  January,  1789, 
all  the  doctors  have  been  examined  by  the  Regency 
Committee.  Toward  the  close  of  the  month, 
however,  the  bulletins  are  distinctly  more  favour¬ 
able,  and  so  cheering  an  effect  have  they  that  Fanny 
draws  up  one  on  her  own  account  in  reply  to  a 
letter  from  Mr.  Smelt,  who  was  going  to  London. 
Young  Dr.  Willis,  entering  into  the  spirit  of  her 


412 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


design,  put  his  name  to  the  document,  which  she 
witnessed. 

But  Miss  Burney’s  cheerfulness  does  not  last 
long.  Every  day  she  is  subjected  to  the  insults 
of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  and  not  only  insults,  but 
elaborate  acts  of  cruelty  as  well,  and  these,  with 
the  strain  that  is  put  on  her,  are  becoming  too  much 
for  her.  Sir  Lucas  Pepys  declared  one  day  that 
the  confinement  in  the  palace — that  phrase  was 
suffered  to  embrace  everything — was  menacing  her 
health,  and  insisted  on  her  taking  exercise.  Colonel 
Greville,  who  was  present,  at  once  offered  her  a 
key  to  a  door  opening  into  Richmond  Gardens, 
close  to  the  Lodge,  and  here  she  has  an  hour’s 
walk  on  January  the  27th — the  first  promenade 
she  has  had  since  the  middle  of  October. 

It  was  owing  to  the  courtesy  of  the  equerry 
that  she  met  with  an  adventure  which  she  said 
occasioned  her  “the  severest  personal  terror”  which 
she  had  ever  experienced  in  her  life. 

Her  account  of  this  adventure  forms  one  of  the 
most  interesting  chapters  of  her  Diary. 


A  REMARKABLE  INTERVIEW 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


A  REMARKABLE  INTERVIEW 

IT  happened  on  the  morning  of  February  2, 
1789,  when,  learning  from  the  younger  of 
the  Willises  that  she  might  with  safety  walk  in 
Kew  Gardens,  as  the  King  was  going  to  Richmond 
Gardens,  she  made  her  way  into  the  former,  and 
had  almost  strolled  the  whole  way  round  when 
she  saw  among  the  trees  some  figures  whom  she 
took  to  be  workmen  or  the  usual  gardeners ;  but 
looking  more  closely  when  they  came  into  the  open 
ground,  she  believed  that  she  detected  in  one  of  them 
the  figure  of  the  King.  “  Alarmed  past  all  possible 
expression,  I  waited  not  to  know  more,”  she  wrote, 
“  but  turning  back,  ran  off  with  all  my  might.  But 
what  was  my  terror  to  hear  myself  pursued — to 
hear  the  voice  of  the  King  himself  loudly  and  hoarsely 
calling  after  me  :  ‘  Miss  Burney  !  Miss  Burney  !  ’  ” 

She  declares  that  she  was  ready  to  die,  for,  not 
knowing  what  state  he  might  be  in  at  that  moment, 
and  being  aware  of  the  general  orders  that  no  one 
was  to  be  in  the  way  of  the  King  at  any  time, 
she  thought  that  the  very  act  of  her  running  away 
might  be  hurtful  to  him.  She  was,  however,  too 
terrified  to  stop,  but  kept  looking  out  for  some  by- 

415 


416 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


path  by  which  she  could  make  good  her  escape. 
She  was  not  successful.  She  heard  the  steps  behind 
her  and  the  hoarse  voice  of  the  King  calling  out 
her  name,  while  the  attendants  were  tearing  after 
him,  the  Willises  loudly  exhorting  him  not  to  exert 
himself  so  unmercifully.  But  their  words  were 
unheeded  by  him.  On  still  she  went  till  her  feet 
were  “  not  sensible  that  they  even  touched  the 
ground  ”  ;  and  even  though  she  heard  other  voices 
calling  her  to  stop,  she  found  it  impossible  to  do 
so,  until  one  of  the  party  overtook  her  and  said 
that  Dr.  Willis  begged  her  to  stand,  because  it  was 
hurtful  to  the  King  to  run. 

“  Then,  indeed,  I  stopped  in  a  state  of  fear  really 
amounting  to  agony,”  she  wrote.  “  I  turned  round 
and  saw  the  two  Doctors  had  got  the  King  between 
them  and  three  attendants  of  Dr.  Willis’s  were  hover¬ 
ing  about.  They  all  slackened  their  pace  as  they  saw 
me  stand  still,  but  such  was  the  excess  of  my  alarm, 
that  I  was  wholly  insensible  to  the  effects  of  a 
race  which,  at  any  other  time,  would  have  required 
an  hour’s  recruit.” 

With  admirable  presence  of  mind  she  thought 
that  it  might  appease  the  anger  of  the  King  at  her 
flight  if  she  were  to  show  confidence  in  his  good¬ 
will,  so  she  faced  the  approaching  party,  only 
whispering  to  the  foremost  attendant  to  remain  by 
her  side  ;  and  when  within  a  yard  or  two  of  her 
the  King  called  out,  “Why  did  you  run  away, 
Miss  Burney  ?  ”  This  was  a  question  which  required 
a  diplomatic  reply,  but  before  she  could  frame  one, 


A  REMARKABLE  INTERVIEW 


417 


he  had  enwound  her  in  his  paternal  arms  and  kissed 
her  heartily  on  the  cheek,  greatly  to  her  confusion 
and  horror.  The  two  doctors  stood  placidly  by. 
They,  being  quite  unaccustomed  to  the  ways  of  the 
Court  of  George  III. — though  they  had  doubtless  heard 
something  of  the  practices  that  prevailed  at  the 
Courts  of  His  Majesty’s  lamented  grandfather  and 
great-grandfather — seemed  under  the  impression  that 
there  was  nothing  unusual  in  this  form  of  salutation. 
For  all  they  knew  it  might  be  regarded  as  de  rigueur 
between  a  monarch  and  the  ladies  of  his  consort’s 
retinue.  Even  Dr.  Willis,  the  divine,  took  a  tolerant 
view  of  the  transaction.  He,  as  Miss  Burney 
afterward  recorded,  actually  looked  pleased  ! 

But  of  course  the  prim  little  lady  herself  was 
overwhelmed — yes,  at  first  ;  but  soon  her  good  sense 
came  to  her  rescue.  She  seems  to  have  come  with 
extraordinary  rapidity  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
King  was  not  so  mad  as  she  had  believed  him  to  be. 
Her  train  of  reasoning  was  instinctive,  and  therefore 
correct  :  the  King  had  put  his  arms  about  her  and 
kissed  her  when  he  had  the  chance,  therefore  he  could 
not  be  so  mad  after  all. 

In  truth,  however,  Fanny  Burney  took  the  view 
of  her  treatment  that  any  sensible  modest  young 
woman  would  take  of  it.  She  knew  that  the  King, 
who  had  been  separated  for  several  months  from  the 
people  whom  he  had  been  daily  in  the  habit  of 
meeting,  had  shown  in  the  most  natural  way  possible 
his  delight  at  coming  once  more  in  contact  with 
one  of  them. 


28 


418 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


And  undoubtedly  the  homely  old  gentleman  was 
delighted  beyond  measure  to  meet  with  some  one 
belonging  to  his  happy  years  ;  though  it  is  not  con¬ 
ceivable  that  the  King  would  have  kissed  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  if  he  had  come  upon  her  suddenly  as 
he  had  upon  Miss  Burney.  People  prefer  silver  rather 
than  iron  links  with  a  happy  past.  He  was  so  over¬ 
joyed  that  the  divine  and  the  physician  in  attendance 
soon  became  anxious.  They  could  not  know  much 
of  all  that  he  talked  about  to  Miss  Burney.  They 
were  in  the  position  of  strangers  suddenly  introduced 
to  a  family  circle,  and  understanding  nothing  of 
the  little  homely  secrets — homely  topics — upon  which 
all  the  members  of  the  circle  have  laughed  together 
for  years.  They  possibly  could  not  see  much  sense 
in  his  long  and  rambling  chat — it  must  have  been 
largely  in  monologue — but  they  must  have  observed 
the  face  of  the  lady  who  was  listening  to  him, 
and  known  from  the  expression  which  it  wore 
that  their  patient  was  making  himself  intelligible. 
Only  now  and  again  they  thought  it  prudent 
to  check  his  exuberance.  They  must  have  been 
the  most  intelligent  of  men ;  and  their  names 
deserve  to  stand  high  in  the  annals  of  their 
country. 

They  remained  for  some  time  after  the  King  had 
greeted  Miss  Burney ;  and  when  he  began  to  speak 
to  her  of  topics  that  had  a  purely  domestic  ring,  they 
showed  their  good  taste,  as  well  as  their  knowledge 
of  the  peculiarities  of  their  “case,”  by  moving 
to  a  little  distance,  signalling  to  their  attendants  to 


A  REMARKABLE  INTERVIEW 


419 


do  the  same.  Their  discrimination  must  have  been 
highly  appreciated  by  the  King.  The  poor  restless 
mind  had  long  wanted  such  a  good  long  talk  with 
a  sympathetic  listener,  who,  he  knew,  could  under¬ 
stand  every  allusion  that  he  might  make  to  the 
past.  He  yearned  to  talk  and  to  hear  of  such  things 
as  some  one  living  in  a  distant  land  looks  forward 
to  finding  in  a  letter  from  home.  The  res  angusta 
domi — that  was  what  he  was  hungering  for — the 
trivial  things  in  which  he  delighted — the  confidences 
on  simple  matters — the  sly  everyday  jests,  never 
acutely  pointed  even  to  the  family  circle,  but  abso¬ 
lutely  pointless  to  every  one  outside,  yet  sounding 
so  delightfully  witty  when  repeated  as  a  sign  of 
a  happy  intimacy  of  the  past ! 

Though  Miss  Burney  was  greatly  terrified  by 
his  affectionate  salutation,  she  could  not  but  have 
been  surprised  at  the  sanity  displayed  in  the 
monologue  that  followed ;  for  one  of  the  first  of 
his  innumerable  questions  revealed  to  her  the  fact 
that  he  was  perfectly  well  aware  of  what  a  trial 
to  her  patience  was  the  odious  Mrs.  Schwellenberg. 
He  asked  how  she  was  getting  on  with  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg,  and  he  did  so  with  a  laugh  that 
showed  her  how  well  he  appreciated  her  difficulties 
in  this  direction  in  the  past.  Before  she  could  say 
a  word  he  was  making  light  of  the  Schwellenberg 
— adopting  exactly  the  strain  that  he  knew  would 
be  most  effective  with  Miss  Burney. 

“Never  mind  her — never  mind  her!  Don’t  be 
oppressed  !  I  am  your  friend  !  Don’t  let  her  cast 


420 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


you  down — I  know  that  you  have  a  hard  time  of 
it — but  don’t  mind  her  !  ” 

The  advice  and  the  tone  in  which  it  was  given — 
with  a  pleasant  laugh — did  not  seem  very  consistent 
with  what  she  had  expected  from  a  madman.  Fanny 
Burney  appears  up  to  that  moment  to  have  been 
under  the  impression  that  the  King  and  Queen  had 
known  nothing  of  the  tyranny  and  insults  to  which  she 
had  been  subjected  by  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.  But  now 
it  was  made  plain  to  her  that  the  eyes  of  the  Royal 
couple  had  been  open  all  the  time.  (She  seems  to 
have  forgotten  what  the  King  said  to  her  on  the 
subject,  for  more  than  a  year  later  she  expressed 
the  belief  that  the  Queen  knew  nothing  of  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg’s  tyranny.) 

But  how  much  more  surprised  must  she  have  been 
when  the  King  went  on  to  talk  to  her  in  the  most 
cordially  confidential  way  about  her  father  !  It  must 
have  been  another  revelation  to  her  when  he  showed 
how  fully  he  realised  the  ambitions  of  Dr.  Burney. 
He  asked  her  regarding  the  progress  of  the  History 
of  Music ,  and  this  gave  him  the  chance  of  getting 
upon  his  favourite  topic,  the  music  of  Handel.  But 
when  he  began  to  illustrate  some  of  his  impressions 
on  this  fruitful  theme  by  singing  over  the  choruses 
of  an  oratorio  or  two — perhaps  such  trifles  as  “  All 
we  like  Sheep,”  or  “  Lift  up  your  Heads,”  or  the 
“Hallelujah” — he  must  have  gone  far  toward  neu¬ 
tralising  the  good  opinion  she  had  formed  as  to  his 
sanity.  Fortunately  the  attendant  doctors  interposed 
at  this  point ;  but  the  fact  that  the  distinguished 


A  REMARKABLE  INTERVIEW 


421 


amateur  suffered  their  adverse  criticism  proves  to 
posterity  that  the  King  was  even  more  good-natured 
than  he  had  been  painted  by  Miss  Burney. 

On,  then,  he  went  to  talk  of  the  subject  which  must 
never  have  been  far  from  Dr.  Burney’s  heart — the 
mastership  of  the  King’s  Band:  “Your  father  ought 
to  have  had  that  post,  and  not  that  little  poor  musician 
Parsons,  who  was  not  fit  for  it,”  he  cried.  “  But  Lord 
Salisbury  used  your  father  very  ill  in  that  business, 
and  so  he  did  me  !  However,  I  have  dashed  out  his 
name,  and  I  shall  put  your  father’s  in — as  soon  as  I 
get  loose  again.  What  has  your  father  got  at  last  ? 
Nothing  but  that  poor  thing  at  Chelsea!  Oh,  fie!  fie! 
But  never  mind  !  I  will  take  care  of  him — I  will  do 
it  myself !  ” 

Could  he  have  given  the  devoted  daughter  of  Dr. 
Burney  a  more  emphatic  proof  of  his  complete 
recovery  to  sanity  than  this?  Why,  it  would  have 
convinced  Dr.  Burney  himself! 

But  the  King  did  not  confine  his  conversation  to 
the  one  topic  which  he  knew  was  of  the  greatest 
interest  to  her.  He  spoke  of  Mrs.  Delany,  who  had 
been  the  means  of  introducing  Fanny  to  the  Royal 
circle  ;  and  he  referred  to  the  ill-treatment  that  he  had 
received  at  the  hands  of  one  of  his  pages ;  but  this 
was  the  only  passage  that  savoured  of  unkindness, 
and  the  chronicler  is  unable  to  do  more  than  hope 
that  the  conduct  of  the  page  was  one  of  His  Majesty’s 
delusions.  Then,  with  what  seems  to  us  to  be  con¬ 
summate  adroitness,  he  put  some  questions  to  her 
which  she  could  not  but  answer.  “  They  referred  to 


422 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


information  given  to  him  in  his  illness  from  various 
motives,  but  which  he  suspected  to  be  false,  and 
which  I  knew  he  had  reason  to  suspect,”  Miss  Burney 
writes.  “Yet  was  it  most  dangerous  to  set  anything 
right,  as  I  was  not  aware  what  might  be  the 
views  of  their  having  been  stated  wrong.  I  was 
as  discreet  as  I  knew  how  to  be,  and  I  hope  I 
did  no  mischief ;  but  this  was  the  worst  part  of 
the  dialogue.” 

We  can  quite  believe  that  it  was  ;  and  considering 
that  it  was  the  part  of  the  dialogue  which  was  most 
interesting  to  the  King,  we  think  that  Miss  Burney 
was  to  be  congratulated  upon  the  tact  she  displayed 
in  her  answers.  She  did  not  cause  the  King  to 
be  more  perturbed  than  he  was  when  waxing 
indignant  over  the  conduct  of  his  page  ;  and  there 
was  no  need  for  Dr.  Willis  to  interfere  at  this  point, 
though  he  did  so  a  little  later.  Then,  submitting  with 
the  utmost  docility  to  the  control  of  his  excellent 
physician,  and  with  another  exhortation  not  to  pay 
any  attention  to  the  whims  of  the  Schwellenberg,  the 
gracious  gentleman  kissed  her  once  more  upon  the 
cheek  and  allowed  her  to  take  her  departure. 

So  ended  this  remarkable  adventure  in  Kew 
Gardens.  One  can  picture  Fanny  Burney  flying  to 
tell  the  Queen  all  that  had  occurred — to  repeat  every¬ 
thing  that  her  discretion  permitted  her  of  the 
conversation,  and  one  has  no  difficulty  in  imagining 
the  effect  upon  Queen  Charlotte  of  all  that  she 
narrated  ;  but  it  seems  rather  hard  that  from  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  should  be  withheld  the  excellent  advice 


A  REMARKABLE  INTERVIEW 


423 


given  by  the  King  to  Miss  Burney  respecting  the 
German  virago. 

It  would  have  been  impossible  either  for  Fanny 
Burney  or  the  Queen  to  come  to  any  conclusion 
from  all  that  happened  except  one  that  was  entirely 
satisfactory  to  both  of  them.  King  George  III.  was 
undoubtedly  on  the  high  road  to  recovery,  and  subse¬ 
quent  events  confirmed  this  opinion.  It  really  seemed 
that  the  interview  with  the  author  of  Evelina  marked 
the  turning-point  in  his  malady  at  this  time.  Every 
day  brought  its  record  of  improvement,  and  within  a 
fortnight  the  dreaded  Regency  Bill,  which  had  been 
sent  up  to  the  Lords,  was  abandoned. 

Before  the  end  of  the  month  the  King  and  Queen 
were  seen  walking  together  through  the  gardens,  and 
subsequently  Fanny  came  upon  His  Majesty  in  the 
Queen’s  dressing-room.  On  opening  the  door  she 
gave  a  start  to  find  herself  face  to  face  with  him. 
But  he  reassured  her,  saying  that  he  had  waited  to  see 
her,  adding,  “  I  am  quite  well  now — I  was  nearly  so 
when  I  saw  you  before — but  I  could  overtake  you 
better  now.” 

On  March  ist  there  were  public  thanksgivings 
in  all  the  churches,  followed  by  such  an  illumination 
of  London  as  had  not  been  seen  since  the  Great  Fire. 
The  scene  at  Kew  is  admirably  described  by  Miss 
Burney,  who  had  written  some  congratulatory  lines 
to  be  offered  by  the  Princess  Amelia  to  the  King.  A 
great  “transparency”  had  been  painted  by  the 
Queen’s  order,  representing  the  King,  Providence, 
Health,  and  Britannia— a  truly  British  tableau— and 


424 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


when  this  was  hung  out  and  illuminated,  the  little 
Princess  “went  to  lead  her  papa  to  the  front  window.” 

Then  she  dropped  on  her  knees  and  gave  him  the 
“copy  of  verses,”  with  the  postscript: 

“  The  little  bearer  begs  a  kiss 
From  dear  papa  for  bringing  this.” 

The  “dear  papa”  took  his  dear  child  in  his  arms 
and  held  her  close  to  him  for  some  time.  Nothing 
could  have  been  more  charmingly  natural  or  affect¬ 
ing.  For  such  a  picture  of  Royalty  at  home  we  are 
indebted  to  Fanny  Burney. 

The  next  morning  the  King  received  in  person  the 
address  of  the  Lords  and  Commons  congratulating 
him  on  his  recovery,  and  at  night  the  Queen  sent  for 
Fanny  Burney  to  come  to  her  in  the  drawing-room, 
and  there  told  her  she  might  have  a  holiday  of 
practically  two  whole  days ! 

She  was  quite  ready  for  so  gracious  a  token  of 
favour. 


EXCURSIONS  AND  ALARUMS 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


EXCURSIONS  AND  ALARUMS 

THE  celebrations  and  the  festivities  and  the 
thanksgivings  for  the  King’s  recovery  were 
innumerable,  and  when  it  was  thought  advisable  that 
His  Majesty  should  have  a  change  of  air — possibly 
the  good  physicians  were  thinking  of  the  Royal 
Household  as  well — the  South  Coast  was  considered 
the  one  most  likely  to  be  of  advantage  to  him.  If  his 
affectionate  son,  George,  Prince  of  Wales,  suggested 
placing  at  his  disposal  his  beautiful  Oriental  lath  and 
plaster  villa  at  Brighton  as  a  convalescent  home  for 
His  Majesty,  there  may  have  been  some  good  reason 
why  his  offer  was  not  accepted,  and  Weymouth 
chosen  for  the  Royal  visit. 

The  journey  to  Dorsetshire  was  one  of  the  most 
interesting  of  Royal  progresses,  and  Fanny  Burney, 
who  certainly  stood  in  great  need  of  a  change,  gives 
a  light-hearted  account  of  the  trip,  which  took  place 
in  June,  through  Winchester,  Lyndhurst,  the  New 
Forest,  and  Salisbury.  Everywhere  the  sounds  of 
rejoicing  filled  the  air,  and  on  the  Sunday  Fanny  is 
rather  shocked  to  hear  in  the  parish  church  of 
Lyndhurst  the  National  Anthem  sung  in  place  of  a 
psalm.  “  But,  misplaced  as  this  was  in  a  church,  its 

427 


428 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


intent  was  so  kind,  loyal,  and  affectionate,  that  I 
believe  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  amongst  either 
singers  or  hearers,  ”  she  wrote.  She  herself  was 
greatly  affected. 

Weymouth  was  illuminated  from  end  to  end,  and 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  wore  some  token  of 
loyalty.  The  very  bathing  women  and  the  boatmen 
adorned  themselves  in  this  way,  and  when  the  King 
took  his  morning  dip,  a  machine  followed  the  King’s, 
carrying  a  stringed  band,  who  struck  up  “  God  Save 
the  King  ”  the  moment  he  took  his  plunge.  We  are 
inclined  to  think  His  Majesty  kept  his  ears  under 
water  as  long  as  he  could. 

In  spite  of  the  exuberant  loyalty  of  the  town, 
however,  when  the  Mayor  and  burgesses  came 
with  their  address  to  the  King  they  asked  leave 
to  kiss  hands,  and  their  request  being  graciously 
granted,  the  Mayor  advanced  to  the  Queen  and 
took  her  hand  naturally  and  in  the  ordinary  way 
of  salutation. 

“You  must  kneel,  sir,”  whispered  Colonel  Gwyn  ; 
but  the  Mayor  paid  no  attention  to  the  command, 
but  kissed  the  Queen’s  hand  standing  erect.  Passing 
Gwyn  on  his  way  out,  the  equerry  said  severely: 

“You  should  have  knelt,  sir.” 

“  Sir,”  said  the  Mayor,  “  I  cannot.” 

“  Everybody  does,  sir,”  said  the  equerry. 

“  Sir,  I  have  a  wooden  leg !  ”  was  the  ex¬ 
planation. 

And  the  funny  part  of  the  matter  was  that  all 
the  members  of  the  deputation  seemed  to  be  afflicted 


EXCURSIONS  AND  ALARUMS 


429 


in  the  same  way,  for  they  all  kept  to  the  attitude 
adopted  perforce  by  their  chief  magistrate,  and 
not  a  knee  touched  the  floor ! 

At  Weymouth  they  came  upon  Mrs.  Siddons 
walking  upon  the  sands  with  her  little  girl,  and 
Fanny,  with  the  true  artist’s  enterprise,  was  very 
anxious  to  try  if  the  stately  lady  would  unbend,  as 
she  was  discovered  in  the  midst  of  such  simple 
surroundings,  or  remain  as  rigid  as  the  Mayor. 
There  was  not,  however,  sufficient  time  for  the 
experiment  to  be  perfected. 

Several  times  the  Royal  party  went  to  the  theatre 
and  witnessed  some  poor  plays  indifferently  per¬ 
formed.  But  Fanny  devotes  a  good  deal  of  space 
to  describing  them,  and  yet  confines  herself  to  a 
single  line  when  noting  that  Miss  Planta’s  brother 
had  just  arrived  from  France,  “where  all  is  confusion, 
commotion,  and  impending  revolution  !  ” 

It  might  haye  been  expected  that  an  appeal 
would  be  made  to  her  artistic  sense  by  the  contrast 
shown  between  the  two  countries  just  at  that  time. 
England  was  aflame  from  East  to  West  with 
bonfires  to  celebrate  the  recovery  of  the  King  ; 
but  of  a  different  sentiment  were  the  flames  symbolic 
that  spread  through  unhappy  France.  But  only 
twice  or  three  times  does  the  Diarist  make  any 
reference  to  the  Revolution,  and  not  once  does 
she  allude  to  any  exchange  of  views  between  herself 
and  the  confiding  Queen  on  this  supreme  event  of 
modern  European  history. 

Before  leaving  Weymouth  Mrs.  Siddons  was 


430 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


persuaded  to  appear  as  Rosalind,  and  the  criticism 
was  exactly  what  one  would  expect.  “  She  looked 
beautifully,”  Fanny  writes,  “  but  too  large  for  that 
shepherd’s  dress ;  and  her  gaiety  sits  not  natural 
upon  her — it  seems  more  like  disguised  gravity. 
I  must  own  my  admiration  for  her  is  confined  to 
her  tragic  powers ;  and  there  it  is  raised  so  high, 
that  I  feel  mortified  in  a  degree  to  see  her  so 
much  fainter  attempts  and  success  in  comedy.” 

The  phrase  “disguised  gravity”  strikes  us  as 
being  one  of  the  happiest  ever  applied  to  the  lighter 
moments  of  a  tragedy  queen. 

Upon  another  occasion  the  Royal  party  set  off 
for  Lulworth  Castle,  the  Dorset  seat  of  the  great 
Catholic  family  of  Weld.  Their  London  house  was 
originally  in  Great  Wild  Street — a  corruption  of 
Weld  Street.  Mrs.  Siddons  was  to  play  the  part 
of  Lady  Townly  in  The  Provokd  Husband ;  but 
owing  to  contrary  winds,  the  Royal  party,  who  had 
gone  along  the  coast  by  sea,  did  not  arrive 
at  the  theatre  until  the  hour  must  have  been  past 
eleven.  The  audience  had  been  waiting  for  five 
or  six  hours,  and  yet  they  had  enough  spirit  re¬ 
maining  to  shake  the  theatre  with  their  applause 
when  the  Royal  boxes  were  at  last  filled. 

The  King  and  Queen  had  a  distant  sort  of  family 
interest  in  Lulworth  Castle,  for  Mrs.  Fitz  Herbert’s 
first  marriage  essay  had  been  with  Mr.  Edward  Weld, 
of  Lulworth  Castle.  At  the  time  of  their  visit,  the 
Prince  of  Wales  had  been  married  to  her  for  nearly 
four  years. 


EXCURSIONS  AND  ALARUMS 


431 


August  the  1 2th  was  the  birthday  of  the  Prince 
of  Wales.  They  might  have  postponed  their  visit 
to  Lulworth  till  this  interesting  anniversary  ;  but 
they  did  not,  and  Fanny  says  laconically,  but 
meaningly,  that  this  birthday  “was  not  kept.” 

A  Western  tour  to  Exeter  brought  the  Royal 
party  to  Saltram,  which  accommodated  in  magnificent 
fashion  all  the  members  of  the  Royal  suite,  down 
to  the  humblest  footman.  They  returned  to 
Weymouth  on  August  the  28th,  and  on  September 
the  14th  set  out  for  Windsor,  via  Longleat,  the  seat 
of  the  Marquis  of  Bath,  where  they  remained  for 
a  day  and  two  nights,  and  Tottenham  Park,  the 
seat  of  Lord  Ailesbury.  On  the  18th  they  were 
back  at  Windsor, 

The  only  episode  of  interest  not  already  referred 
to,  in  the  Diary  for  the  rest  of  the  year,  is  the  state 
visit  to  the  theatre.  Once  again  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  people  was  embarrassing  to  the  Royal  party. 
For  more  than  an  hour  Fanny  Burney  and  her  com¬ 
panions  were  struggling  to  reach  the  doors,  and 
afterward  upon  the  staircase,  before  they  managed 
to  get  to  a  box — not  the  one  that  had  been  reserved 
for  them,  but  quite  another.  By  this  contretemps 
they  had  the  good  fortune,  however,  to  miss  a 
considerable  part  of  O’Keefe’s  farce,  The  Dramatist. 
The  greater  number  of  the  entries  in  the  Diary 
for  this  year  are  of  the  most  commonplace  description, 
and  no  more  interesting  to  readers  of  to-day  than 
a  family  letter  written  in  England  to-day  would  be 
to  a  native  of  the  Falkland  Islands  next  year.  To 


432 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


be  sure  there  is  brightness  and  a  certain  keenness 
of  observation  in  many  of  the  scattered  paragraphs^ 
but  having  already  referred  to  her  account  of  the 
days  which  she  spent  during  this  year  at  the  Hastings 
Trial,  there  is  no  need  to  touch  except  in  the  briefest 
way  upon  the  incidents  of  the  last  year  of  what  she 
appropriately  termed  her  monastic  life. 

The  first  impression  of  which  we  are  conscious- 
on  reading  the  Diary  for  the  years  1790  and  1791 
up  to  the  time  of  her  severing  her  connection  with 
the  Court,  is  that  the  writer  was  in  very  bad  health — 
such  very  bad  health  as  caused  her  to  be  indifferent 
to  it — indifferent  to  everything  that  was  happening 
or  that  might  happen.  The  efforts  that  she  made 
to  be  sprightly  in  her  correspondence  can  best  be 
described  by  her  own  phrase — “gravity  dis¬ 
guised  ”  ;  we  do  not  hear  a  word  bearing 
directly  upon  her  condition  ;  but  her  condition  is 
apparent.  The  monotony  of  her  life  is  killing  her, 
and  the  brutality  of  the  hag  with  whom  she  had 
to  associate  almost  hourly  is  hastening  the  pro¬ 
cess.  Her  position  is  like  that  of  some  one  who  is 
dying  of  a  slow  poison,  and  to  whom  a  bludgeoning 
is  administered  every  day.  Either  of  the  two  was 
sufficiently  potent  to  end  her  ;  but  the  combination 
meant  acceleration.  We  feel  that  if  she  had  not 
succeeded  in  making  her  escape  when  she  did,  she 
would  not  have  survived  another  half  year. 

And  perhaps  we  may  be  justified  in  expressing 
the  opinion  that  she  would  not  have  held  up  so- 
long  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  cordiality  of  her 


EXCURSIONS  AND  ALARUMS 


433 


relations  with  Colonel  Digby.  It  seems  to  us  to  be 
quite  plain  that  she  greatly  liked  this  person  from 
the  first,  and  we  repeat  that  his  attitude  toward  her 
was  enough  to  suggest  that  he  had  more  than  an 
ordinary  regard  for  her.  He  could  not,  of  course, 
do  more  than  ask  her  to  mourn  with  him  during  the 
year  that  followed  the  death  of  his  wife ;  but  he  cer¬ 
tainly  did  so  in  a  very  marked  way ;  she  responded  to 
his  call,  not  without  tenderness,  and  every  one  knows 
how  powerful  a  bond  may  be  woven  between  a  discon¬ 
solate  widower  and  a  marriageable  young  woman 
— but  not  too  young — to  whom  he  appeals  for 
sympathy,  and  not  in  vain. 

Her  guarded  entries  in  her  Diary  on  the  subject 
of  Digby  and  his  affairs — her  accounts  of  his  sudden 
appearances  at  her  door — of  his  long  fingerings  in 
her  sitting-room  during  the  illness  of  the  King — all 
tend  to  convey  the  impression  that  if  she  told  a 
good  deal  about  Digby  she  kept  back  a  good  deal. 
We  feel  that  we  should  like  to  read  the  diary  of 
some  one  who  had  the  entrde  to  the  tea-room  at  this 
time — say,  Miss  Planta — in  respect  of  Colonel  Digby 
and  Miss  Burney.  As  it  is,  however,  all  that  can  con¬ 
fidently  be  said  on  the  subject  of  his  attitude  is  that  he 
rather  more  than  hinted  to  her  that  he  thought  he 
might  go  a  long  way  before  he  could  find  a  woman 
who  would  make  him  a  better  wife  than  she  would  be. 

Fanny  Burney  is  guarded,  and,  moreover,  at  times 
she  wears  an  impenetrable  mask  of  frankness,  in 
reference  to  Colonel  Digby  and  his  conferences  with 
herself ;  but  we  think  she  discloses  enough  to 

29 


434 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


suggest  that  the  people  about  them,  from  the  King 
down  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  thought  that — well, 
that  “something  would  come  of  it”  ;  and  if  they  did 
not  express  the  opinion  that  he  was  “shilly-shallying0 
with  her,  we  have  some  grounds  for  doing  so  in  this 
place. 

He  was  an  unsatisfactory  sort  of  person,  but  he 
was  the  only  possible  parti  for  Fanny  Burney  within 
a  conversational  distance,  and  her  monastic  life  had 
not  reconciled  her  to  monastic  conditions  of  living, 
so — every  one  who  studies  the  Diary  closely  is  at 
liberty  to  form  an  opinion  as  to  whether  or  not  her 
regard  for  him  ever  reached  such  a  point  as  would 
have  caused  her  to  accept  him  had  he  proposed  to 
her,  or  even  to  form  an  opinion  as  to  whether  or  not 
he  did  actually  propose  to  her  and  was  rejected. 

But  we  certainly  cannot  refrain  from  expressing 
our  belief  that  the  apparently  sudden  marriage  of 
Colonel  Digby  with  Miss  Gunning  and  the  secrecy 
which  he  observed  on  the  subject  in  conversation 
with  Miss  Burney — he  sounded  her  once  in  reference 
to  the  gossip  that  associated  his  name  with  that 
of  Miss  Gunning  and  assured  her  that  the 
rumour  about  them  was  only  gossip — contributed 
largely  to  the  dissatisfaction  that  Fanny  Burney 
felt  in  her  “place,”  and  this  dissatisfaction  added  in 
no  small  measure  to  her  ill-health. 

Several  times  in  the  course  of  the  year  1 790-1  we 
hear  of  her  illnesses,  and  though  she  expresses  her 
gratitude  to  the  Queen  and  the  Princesses,  who  were 
very  attentive  to  her  when  she  was  obliged  to  take  to 


EXCURSIONS  AND  ALARUMS 


435 


her  bed,  we  feel  that  if  they  had  but  shown  this  regard 
for  her  in  a  practical  way,  she  would  have  had  greater 
reason  to  thank  them.  If,  for  instance,  the  Queen 
had  demanded  of  her  an  explanation  of  how  her 
eyes  had  become  so  inflamed  on  that  day  of  the 
terrible  journey  to  London,  some  good  might  have 
come  of  it.  Mrs.  Haggerdorn’s  eyes  had  gone  the 
same  way  and  she  had  become  almost  blind.  Why 
did  the  Queen  not  investigate  the  cause  of  such 
trouble  to  both  her  Junior  Robe-keepers? 

In  May,  1789,  she  had  a  frightful  attack  of  neur¬ 
algia — the  result,  of  course,  of  all  that  she  had  gone 
through — of  a  service  that  admitted  of  no  respite. 
The  opinion  of  the  eminent  physician,  Sir  Lucas 
Pepys,  on  her  condition  at  the  close  of  the  King’s 
illness  is  known  ;  and  from  that  date  until  the  end 
of  the  next  year  she  was  never  in  good  health. 
Every  one  who  saw  her  at  that  time,  having 
known  her  in  the  old  days,  was  shocked  at  the 
change  in  her.  “  Let  me  give  to  my  beloved  friends 
some  account  of  the  conclusion  of  this  year  while  yet 
in  being,”  she  writes  ;  and  then  she  goes  on  to  tell 
how  her  ill-health  was  the  talk  of  every  one — every 
one  except  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  and  the  Queen.  The 
former  insisted  on  her  playing  piquet  every  night, 
though  her  frequent  pains  forced  her  to  retire  to  her 
room  more  than  once  in  every  game  for  restoratives. 
“  So  weak  and  faint  I  was  become  that  I  was 
compelled  to  put  my  head  out  into  the  air  at  all 
hours,  and  in  all  weathers,  from  time  to  time,  to 
recover  the  power  of  breathing,  which  seemed  not 


436 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


seldom  wholly  withdrawn,”  she  wrote.  “  The  whole 
household  showed  compassion  and  regard,  and  a 
general  opinion  that  I  was  falling  into  a  decline  ran 
through  the  establishment.” 

Lady  Elizabeth  Waldegrave  joined  with  her 
friends  in  begging  her  to  ask  for  a  respite  from 
her  duties.  Miss  Gomme,  Mr.  de  Luc,  and  Mr. 
Guiffardi^re  were  even  more  emphatic  in  the 
same  direction,  the  last-named  telling  her  that  she 
must  resign  forthwith. 

At  last  even  the  Queen  came  to  believe  that  she 
was  not  in  robust  health,  and  was  even  gracious 
enough,  not  to  tell  her  to  go  to  bed  and  then  give 
orders  for  Sir  George  Baker  to  be  summoned  to 
attend  to  her,  but  only  gracious  enough  to  inquire 
now  and  again  what  Mr.  Francis,  to  whom  she  had, 
through  her  sister,  communicated  her  symptoms, 
thought  of  the  case. 

It  seems  just  possible  that  some  one  may  have 
hinted  to  the  gracious  lady  that  the  Schwellenberg 
was  killing  Miss  Burney,  and  that  the  gracious  lady 
had  an  idea  that,  by  turning  Miss  Burney  into  a 
“  reader,”  her  services  might  be  retained  without 
forcing  her  to  submit  to  the  tyranny  of  the  tea¬ 
room ;  for  one  evening  in  March,  1790,  when  in  the 
dressing-room,  Her  Majesty  said  : — 

“  Prepare  yourself,  Miss  Burney,  with  all  your 
spirits,  for  to-night  you  must  be  reader.” 

How  Miss  Burney  prepared  herself  is  not  revealed, 
but  the  reading  came  off,  the  Queen  having  chosen 
Colman’s  Polly  Honey  combe  as  the  trial  piece.  It 


EXCURSIONS  AND  ALARUMS 


437 


tried  more  than  Fanny  Burney’s  skill  as  a  reader,  for 
two  of  the  Princesses  were  present,  and  some  of  the 
scenes  were  too  coarse  to  be  described,  so  that  she 
was  compelled  to  exercise  a  line-to-line  and  word-to- 
word  judgment  as  she  went  on  with  her  task.  The 
result  was,  she  thought,  rather  flat,  especially  as  no 
one  was  permitted  to  make  a  comment  even  at  the 
end.  The  next  night  The  English  Merchant  was 
chosen  for  her,  and  the  Duke  of  Clarence  was 
present,  and  this  being  “an  elegant  and  serious 
piece,”  she  read  it  with  much  greater  ease. 

This  incident  may  perhaps  suggest  that  the  Queen 
had  a  hope  of  changing  the  form  of  Miss  Burney’s 
service ;  but  if  so  her  hope  was  not  realised,  and 
things  went  on  as  before,  only  every  day  was 
increasing  the  incapacity  of  Miss  Burney  to  do  any 
work  whatsoever — every  day  was  bringing  her  nearer 
to  Death’s  door,  and  that  we  know  is  never  double- 
padlocked,  except  on  the  inside. 

Fanny  was  anxious  to  resign,  but  she  knew  that  not 
only  had  she  to  reckon  with  the  Queen,  but  her  father 
had  also  to  be  taken  into  account  in  this  connection ; 
and  she  seemed  ready  to  die  on  her  feet — that  is 
certainly  how  she  would  have  died — rather  than 
cause  him  any  annoyance.  It  so  happened,  however, 
that  she  was  not  called  on  to  make  such  a  sacrifice. 
The  Handel  Commemoration  was  to  be  held  in 
Westminster  Abbey,  and  the  King  sent  her  a  ticket 
for  the  performance  of  the  Master’s  greatest  work. 
She  went  to  the  Abbey,  and  for  the  rest  of  her  life 
she  attributed  her  deliverance  to  this  Messiah. 


438 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


She  sat  beside  her  father,  and  thus  encouraged  by 
the  breadth  and  volume  of  the  sublime  choruses,  and 
feeling  that  her  father  must  be  affected  by  the  pathos 
of  some  of  the  airs  that  breathe  of  paternal  solicitude, 
she  had  a  three  hours  ’  conference  with  him  upon  the 
intolerable  position  in  which  she  found  herself,  and 
upon  her  desire  for  release.  She  poured  all  her 
story  into  his  ears,  and  it  must  have  come  upon  him 
with  the  force  of  a  revelation  while  the  voice  in  the 
choir  gave  forth  the  inspiring  notes  of  Comfort  ye  My 
People.  Never  surely  was  there  a  more  imposing 
obbligato  to  a  child’s  piteous  appeal  to  be  saved  from 
all  she  dreaded. 

“  I  was  lost  to  all  private  comfort,  ”  she  told  him — 
“dead  to  all  domestic  endearment:  I  was  worn  with 
want  of  rest  and  fatigued  with  duties ;  and  all  that 
in  life  was  dearest  to  me — my  friends,  my  chosen 
society,  my  best  affections — lived  now  in  my  mind  only 
by  recollection  and  rested  upon  that  with  nothing  but 
bitter  regret.  With  relations  the  most  deservedly 
dear,  with  friends  of  almost  unequalled  goodness,  I 
lived  like  an  orphan — like  one  who  has  no  natural  ties, 
and  must  make  her  way  as  she  could  by  those  that 
were  factitious.  ” 

This  was  the  burden  of  her  story,  and  her  father 
listened  to  it  in  silence.  “  I  turned  to  look  at  him,” 
she  wrote  ;  “  but  how  was  I  struck  to  see  his  honoured 
head  bowed  down  almost  to  his  bosom  with  dejection 
and  discomfort ! — we  were  both  perfectly  still  a  few 
moments  ;  but  when  he  raised  his  head  I  could  hardly 
keep  my  seat,  to  see  his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  ‘  I 


EXCURSIONS  AND  ALARUMS 


439 


have  long,’  he  cried,  ‘been  uneasy,  though  I  have 
not  spoken  .  .  .  but  ...  if  you  wish  to  resign — my 
house,  my  purse,  my  arms  shall  be  open  to  receive 
you  back.’” 

That  was  all,  and  we  like  to  think  that  when  he 
had  spoken  those  words  the  chorus  Hallelujah  burst 
forth  from  the  choir.  If  it  did  not,  no  matter;  that 
was  the  chorus  which  little  Miss  Burney  was  sing¬ 
ing  with  all  her  heart  and  soul  as  she  stood  with 
streaming  eyes  among  the  pillars  of  the  Abbey  aisle. 

A  few  months  after  her  chronicle  of  the  crisis 
that  promised  so  well  she  records  that  she  had 
finished  her  first  tragedy,  but  she  is  uncertain  “  what 
species  of  a  composition  it  may  prove  ”  ;  she  can 
only  say  that  it  was  “an  almost  spontaneous  work  ” 
— we  should  think  so,  indeed — “  and  soothed  the 
melancholy  of  imagination  for  a  while.” 

It  is  plain  that  the  sense  of  her  coming  release 
inspired  her  to  do  “some  species  of  a  composition.” 
She  wrote  two  tragedies — the  first  was  Cerulia 
and  the  second  Edwy  aiid  Elgiva. 

And  then — from  tragedy  to  comedy — she  found 
Mr.  Boswell  waiting  for  her  one  Sunday  coming 
out  of  St.  George’s  Chapel.  “  His  comic-serious  face 
and  manner  had  lost  nothing  of  their  wonted  singu¬ 
larity,  nor  yet  have  his  mind  and  language,”  she 
wrote. 

And  Mr.  Boswell,  having  heard  all  the  comments 
of  Windsor  about  Miss  Burney’s  illness,  breaks 
out  into  a  passionate  speech  exhorting  her  to  resign, 
raising  his  voice  so  that  the  whole  of  the  Queen’s 


440 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


entourage  may  hear  him.  “  If  you  do  not  quit,  ma’am, 
very  soon  some  violent  measures,  I  assure  you,  will 
be  taken.  We  shall  address  Dr.  Burney  in  a  body  ; 
I  am  ready  to  make  the  harangue  myself.” 

But  he  did  not  come  to  Windsor  to  pray  Miss 
Burney  to  resign.  He  wanted  her  help  very  badly 
for  his  Life  of  Johnson.  The  book  needed  lightening, 
he  thought,  and  he  asked  her  to  hand  over  to 
him  all  the  letters  that  she  had  received  from  “great 
Sam,  and  solemn  Sam,  and  learned  Sam — I  want  to 
show  him  as  gay  Sam,  agreeable  Sam,  pleasant  Sam.” 

She  excused  herself,  but,  Boswell-like,  he  followed 
her,  and  pulling  proof-sheets  out  of  his  pocket, 
insisted  on  reading  one  of  Johnson’s  letters  aloud, 
while  the  people  were  standing  on  each  side  of 
the  rails  waiting  for  the  King  and  Queen  to  come 
up.  She  had  to  rush  away  from  him.  He  failed 
to  embellish  his  immortal  work  with  any  of  his 
“gay  Sam’s”  sportive  letters  to  her. 

If  the  Messiah  formed  an  appropriate  background, 
so  to  speak,  for  her  petition  to  her  father,  assuredly 
Israel  in  Egypt  was  the  oratorio  that  should  have 
been  chosen  for  the  same  purpose  when  she  was 
making  her  appeal  to  the  Queen.  The  hardness 
of  the  heart  of  Pharaoh  was  not  greater  than  Queen 
Charlotte’s  would  be  when  called  on  to  let  her 
tirewoman  go.  A  memorial  of  the  most  humble 
pattern  was  prepared — it  could  not  have  been  in 
a  more  servile  vein  if  it  had  been  a  petition  for  freedom 
offered  by  a  slave  to  the  master  by  whom  he  was 
purchased — but  it  was  one  thing  to  compose  such 


EXCURSIONS  AND  ALARUMS 


441 


a  masterpiece  of  servility  and  quite  another  to  present 
it.  Fanny  lacked  courage  to  do  so.  For  two  months 
it  lay  in  her  letter-case,  and  in  the  meantime  she 
was  growing  weaker  and  weaker.  But  the  gracious 
lady  refused  to  take  any  notice  of  so  insignificant 
a  detail  in  the  slave  whom  she  had  purchased.  “  I 
saw  that  she  had  no  suspicion  but  that  I  was  hers 
for  life,”  Fanny  wrote ;  and  at  the  same  time  she 
records  that  the  war  was  over  and  the  hope  of 
obtaining  the  command  of  a  ship  for  her  brother 
demolished,  so  that  we  begin  to  perceive  that  her 
fear  of  the  Queen  was  only  one  of  the  reasons 
she  had  for  holding  back  her  petition  to  be  allowed 
to  resign  :  she  had  hopes  of  being  able  to  further 
the  interests  of  her  brother  in  his  profession.  Mr. 
Smelt  had  assured  her  that  her  position  near  the 
Queen  would  give  her  many  chances  of  helping 
her  friends,  but  we  do  not  hear  she  was  notably 
successful  in  this  way. 

And  so  the  second  month  went  by  and  the  petition 
remained  in  her  letter-case.  Every  one  about  her 
became  alarmed  at  the  change  in  her  appearance, 
and  her  old  friend  Mrs.  de  Luc  came  to  her  with 
tears  in  her  eyes  to  implore  her  to  send  in  her 
resignation.  “  I  could  not,  however,  summon 
courage,”  wrote  Fanny.  “  My  heart  always  failed 
me,  from  seeing  the  Queen’s  entire  freedom  from 
such  an  expectation ;  for  though  I  was  frequently 
so  ill  in  her  presence  that  I  could  hardly  stand,  I 
saw  she  concluded  me,  while  life  remained,  inevit¬ 
ably  hers.” 


442 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


While  life  remained.  But  this  condition  which 
made  possession  possible  seemed  likely  to  be  changed 
before  long.  One  morning  she  was  in  the  Queen’s 
room,  “half  dead  with  real  illness,  excessive  nervous¬ 
ness,  and  the  struggle  of  what  I  had  to  force  myself 
to  perform.”  The  crisis  had  come.  She  tried  to 
articulate,  expressing  to  the  Queen  that  she  had 
something  of  deep  consequence  to  herself  to  lay 
before  Her  Majesty,  but  that  she  was  unequal 
in  her  weak  state  to  speak  it,  so  had  ventured  to 
commit  it  to  writing,  and  now  entreated  permission 
to  produce  it. 

The  Queen  told  her  that  she  had  better  give 
it  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  for  transmission  to  herself, 
and  apparently  the  next  day  Fanny  brought  the 
original  memorial  and  a  supplemental  one  as  well  to 
the  person  named,  but  this  person  insisted  on  being 
informed  as  to  the  nature  of  the  contents  of  the 
documents.  Fanny  was  then  compelled  to  own  that 
they  contained  her  resignation. 

Of  course  this  acknowledgment  called  for  a 
tirade  from  the  person,  but  Fanny  Burney  could 
be  firm  enough  at  times,  and  no  amount  of  bullying 
had  any  effect  upon  her  now.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
had  to  carry  off  the  memorial  to  the  Queen,  and 
when  she  returned,  after  a  short  interval,  she  was 
in  that  most  detestable  of  all  attitudes  that  an  enemy 
can  assume — the  complacent  pose  of  the  smiling 
hypocrite.  She  tried  to  cajole  Fanny  into  the  belief 
that  all  she  wanted  was  a  few  weeks’  rest  :  she 
and  the  Queen  had  plainly  talked  over  the  matter 


EXCURSIONS  AND  ALARUMS 


443 


together,  and  she  was  Her  Majesty’s  plenipotentiary 
to  bring  Miss  Burney  to  terms.  But  Miss  Burney 
was  firm,  both  with  the  ambassadress  and  her 
Royal  mistress.  There  was  to  be  no  compromise 
— she  felt  that  the  question  was  resignation  or 
death. 

So  she  told  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.  Fanny  got  a 
letter  from  her  father  in  which  he  expressed  his 
satisfaction  at  the  “  clemency  ” — that  was  his  word — 
shown  by  the  Queen  in  accepting  the  memorials, 
but  he  would  not  sanction  anything  less  than 
permanent  resignation.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  heard, 
and  her  mask  of  cajolery  was  thrown  away.  “  She 
uttered  the  most  furious  expressions  of  indignant 
contempt  at  our  proceedings,”  wrote  Fanny.  “  I 
am  sure  she  would  gladly  have  confined  us  both 
in  the  Bastille,  had  England  such  a  misery,  as  a  fit 
place  to  bring  us  to  ourselves,  from  a  daring  so 
outrageous  against  imperial  wishes.” 

But  England  had  not  a  Bastille — neither,  for  that 
matter,  had  France  by  over  a  year  in  December, 
1790 — and  Fanny  Burney  believed  that  she  was 
now  free.  Alas !  she  might  have  had  a  chance  of 
hearing  Israel  in  Egypt  at  the  next  Handel  Com¬ 
memoration  and  of  taking  a  lively  personal  interest 
in  the  impressive  illustrations  of  the  means  by  which 
the  freedom  of  the  slaves  was  brought  about,  before 
she  found  herself  in  a  position  to  sing  the  song  of 
Miriam.  The  next  Handel  Commemoration  had  come 
and  gone,  and  so  had  the  King’s  birthday  on  June 
4th — giving  her  a  chance  of  describing  a  lively  scene 


444 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


in  which  the  Duke  of  Clarence  figured  as  Jack  ashore, 
calling  out  in  Mrs.  Schwellenberg’s  drawing-room 
for  champagne  and  more  champagne  and  still  more 
champagne,  in  which  every  one  should  drink  the  King’s 
health,  God  bless  him  ! — and  still  she  was  by  the 
side  of  the  Queen. 

She  had  handed  in  her  memorial  in  December, 
1790,  and  it  was  not  until  July  7,  1791,  that  she 
was  permitted  to  take  leave  of  all  her  friends  who 
were  at  Kew  while  she  drove  to  London  to  be  in 
attendance  on  the  Queen  at  the  Drawing-room 
for  the  last  time — not  quite  the  last  time,  for  Her 
Majesty  on  this  day  begged  her  to  be  in  attendance 
at  the  next  function  of  the  same  sort,  which  was 
to  take  place  in  a  fortnight. 

The  leave-taking  with  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  was 
scarcely  so  affecting  as  that  with  the  Queen;  but  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  was  for  once  affable  :  she  was  good 
enough  to  offer  her  the  reversion  of  her  place  by  her 
retirement  or  by  her  death.  But  the  account  of  Miss 
Burney’s  last  formal  attendance  upon  the  Queen  is 
touching  in  every  way.  Her  Majesty  had  her  hand¬ 
kerchief  in  her  hand  or  at  her  eyes  the  whole  time, 
and  Fanny  was  so  greatly  overcome  that,  when  the 
King  came  to  say  goodbye  to  her,  she  could  not  com¬ 
pose  herself  sufficiently  to  allow  of  his  carrying 
out  his  intention;  and  seeing  her  in  that  condition,  he 
tactfully  walked  away. 

“They  were  now  all  going,”  wrote  Fanny.  “I 
took  for  the  last  time  the  cloak  of  the  Queen,  and 
putting  it  over  her  shoulders,  slightly  ventured  to 


EXCURSIONS  AND  ALARUMS 


445 


press  them,  earnestly,  though  in  a  low  voice,  saying, 

4  God  Almighty  bless  your  Majesty.’ 

“She  turned  round,”  continues  the  chronicle,  “and 
putting  her  hand  upon  my  ungloved  arm,  pressed  it 
with  the  greatest  kindness,  saying,  *  May  you  be 
happy !  ’ ” 

That  was  the  last  scene  of  all.  Not  a  word  could 
Miss  Burney  utter  to  the  three  Princesses,  who  met 
her  in  the  next  room  to  wish  her  well. 

“  Here,  therefore,  end  my  Court  Annals,”  wrote 
Fanny  Burney,  “  after  having  lived  in  the  service  of 
Her  Majesty  five  years  within  ten  days — from  July 
17,  1786,  to  July  7,  1791-” 


CONCERNING  MADAME  D’ARBLAY 


CHAPTER  XXX 


CONCERNING  MADAME  D’ARBLAY 

IT  is  outside  the  scope  of  the  present  volume  to 
follow  Fanny  Burney  into  the  world  after  seeing 
her  press  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  at  the  gates  of 
the  Queen’s  House.  The  story  of  her  life  as  the 
Junior  Keeper  of  the  Robes  naturally  ends  with  her 
last  duty  to  Queen  Charlotte,  when  she  placed  the 
cloak  upon  Her  Majesty’s  shoulders — for  that 
affectionate  pressure  of  her  hands  and  her  farewell 
benediction  were  strictly  unofficial.  But  we  cannot 
leave  her  with  the  abruptness  shown  by  Milton 
toward  the  victims  of  the  expulsion  from  the  Paradise 
of  his  epic,  who,  into  the  cold  world — 

“  Through  Eden  took  their  solitary  way.” 

A  few  pages  must  be  devoted  to  a  summary  of  the 
leading  events  of  the  remainder  of  her  long  life.  The 
fact  that  she  lived  to  see  the  granddaughter  of  her 
Royal  mistress  Queen  of  England  and  the  mother 
of  children  suggests  that,  after  all,  no  serious  under¬ 
mining  of  her  constitution  resulted  from  her  five 
years’  service.  When  she  left  the  Queen’s  House 
she  was  thirty-nine,  and  for  close  upon  halfa  century 

30  449 


450 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


she  drew  the  pension  of  ^ioo  which  had  been 
granted  to  her. 

It  was  certainly  the  intention  of  that  very  practical 
artist,  her  father,  that  on  leaving  the  Court  she  should 
take  up  the  threads  of  her  literary  life  where  she  had 
dropped  them — not,  it  must  be  remembered  in  1786, 
when  she  went  to  Windsor,  but  in  1782,  when  she 
published  Cecilia.  He  took  care  that  a-  sufficient 
supply  of  pens  and  paper  were  placed  on  her  desk, 
and  he  may  have  hinted  at  the  pleasure  with  which 
he  and  the  rest  of  the  world  would  receive  a  few  more 
novels  as  brilliant  as  her  last. 

Five  years,  however,  had  elapsed  before  she 
published  another  novel,  and  the  world  decided  that  it 
was  not  nearly  so  brilliant  as  Cecilia ,  and  though  it 
was  much  more  “paying,”  the  payment  did  not  go 
to  Dr.  Burney,  but  to  a  certain  Brigadier-General, 
retired  (by  flight)  from  the  army  of  the  French  King, 
whom  she  had  married,  and  thus  it  was  that  Dr. 
Burney  failed  to  reap  the  benefit  of  it. 

The  truth  was  that  Fanny  Burney  loved  life  and 
its  associations  too  dearly  to  allow  of  her  devoting 
herself  to  the  work  of  producing  book  after  book, 
after  the  style  of  a  modern  author.  Her  desire  was 
to  take  up  the  threads  of  her  old  friendships  rather 
than  of  her  literary  life.  She  was  devoted  to  her 
sisters,  who  were  not  geniuses  but  only  mothers,  and 
to  her  dear  “Fredy”  Locke  and  all  the  Norbury 
people  from  whom  she  had  been  separated  for  so 
long ;  so  she  promptly  went  on  a  round  of  visits,  after 
a  recruiting  excursion  to  Devonshire ;  and  her  next 


CONCERNING  MADAME  D’ARBLAY 


451 


appeal  to  the  public  was  through  the  medium  of  a 
tragedy — one  of  the  two  that  she  had  written  in  some 
form  during  the  years  of  her  service — and  now  she 
was  working  at  a  third!  It  may  have  been  that  her 
thoughts  were  dwelling  too  deeply  upon  the  tragedies  of 
life  rather  than  the  comedies,  or  that,  as  is  so  frequently 
the  case,  she  had  become  perverse  enough  to  fancy 
that  her  best  powers  could  only  be  made  apparent  in 
the  opposite  direction  to  that  in  which  they  had 
proved  most  acceptable  to  the  public — it  is  the  broad 
comedian  who  believes  that  his  life  has  been  wasted 
because  he  has  never  had  a  chance  of  playing  Hamlet 
— but,  however  this  may  be,  the  tragedy  was  a  failure : 
it  was  played  for  one  night  only.  If  Sheridan  had 
been  disposed  to  become  a  second  Daddy  Crisp  to 
her,  the  result  of  the  collaboration  might  have  been 
worthy  of  the  reputation  of  the  author  of  The  Rivals 
and  of  the  author  of  Evelina ;  but  even  if  Sheridan 
had  had  any  leaning  in  the  direction  of  such  an 
association  of  talents,  she  would  not  have  consented 
to  it ;  for  she  prided  herself  on  chilling  Sheridan  by 
her  disapprobation  of  the  part  he  had  played  in  the 
Hastings  Impeachment.  She  had  her  revenge  upon 
him,  for  he  was  induced  to  produce  her  tragedy 
of  Edwy  and  Elgiva  in  1795,  on  the  recommendation 
of  Kemble,  who,  with  Mrs.  Siddons,  endeavoured  to 
put  a  stately  life  into  it,  but  without  success. 

The  French  Revolution,  to  which,  as  we  have 
already  mentioned,  she  had  devoted  but  a  very  small 
portion  of  her  Diary,  though  one  might  have  fancied 
that  little  else  was  talked  of  even  in  the  Windsor  tea- 


452 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


room,  was  destined  to  play  an  important  part  in  her 
life,  for  among  the  fugitives  who,  as  usual,  found  an 
asylum  in  England,  there  was  a  Monsieur  Alexandre 
d’Arblay,  who  had  been  made  Mardchal  de  Camp  to 
Lafayette  on  promotion  from  Narbonne’s  regiment — 
the  Count  himself  was  among  the  dmigrds — and 
meeting  him  at  Mickleham  when  she  was  on  a  visit  to 
the  Lockes,  Fanny  became  greatly  interested  in  him, 
and  thought  the  opportunity  of  improving  her  French 
should  not  be  neglected.  She  did  not  neglect  it. 
Monsieur  d’Arblay  became  her  teacher  “  for  pronun¬ 
ciation,”  she  specified,  and  he  also  gave  her  long  daily 
lessons  in  reading.  From  the  first  they  became  at¬ 
tached,  and  people  who  fancied  that  because  she  was 
close  upon  forty-one  she  was  “safe,”  found  that  they 
had  made  a  great  mistake.  She  fell  deeply  in  love 
with  Monsieur  d’Arblay,  and,  in  spite  of  his  being  a 
Roman  Catholic,  a  foreigner,  wholly  without  means, 
and  dispossessed  of  employment,  she  announced  her 
intention  of  marrying  him,  when  he  had  proposed 
to  her. 

But  Dr.  Burney  had  to  be  reckoned  with.  He 
discouraged  the  match  by  all  the  means  in  his  power, 
and  he  was  hardly  to  be  blamed  for  doing  so.  Even 
if  his  daughter’s  pension  of  £\oo  a  year  would  be 
enough  for  her  to  live  on  and  to  support  a  penniless 
husband  on,  it  was  by  no  means  certain  that  the 
Queen  would  think  herself  justified  in  continuing  this 
allowance  for  the  benefit  of  a  Frenchman  and  a 
Catholic.  Fanny  was  too  dutiful  a  daughter  to  marry 
without  her  father’s  consent,  for  in  those  primitive 


CONCERNING  MADAME  D’ARBLAY 


453 


times  there  was  no  age-limit  to  the  authority  of  a 
parent,  and  the  claims  of  a  girl  of  forty-one  to  think 
for  herself  and  to  act  for  herself  were  no  more  admitted 
than  they  would  have  been  if  she  had  been  still  in  the 
nursery.  But  the  opinion  of  the  wealthy  Mr.  Locke 
of  Norbury  Park  to  the  effect  that  a  pair  might  start 
life  on  ;£ioo  a  year,  and  the  advocacy  of  Fanny’s 
sister  Susan,  prevailed  upon  Dr.  Burney’s  good  sense 
and  well-founded  prejudices,  and  he  gave  a  grudging 
consent  to  the  marriage.  It  took  place  in  Mickle- 
ham  Church  on  July  31,  1793,  a  second  ceremony 
being  performed  in  the  Sardinian  Chapel  in  Lincoln’s 
Inn  Fields  the  next  day. 

The  ex-Brigadier  and  his  wife  settled  down  to  the 
romantic  joys  of  love  in  a  cottage — not  the  cottage 
ornd  of  the  bridegroom’s  Tuileries  experience — not 
the  cottage  of  one  of  Watteau’s  Fetes  Champ etres,  but 
the  real  thing,  with  a  garden  of  cabbages,  potatoes, 
and  asparagus,  the  last  named  being,  in  an  excess  of 
zeal,  rooted  up  as  a  weed  by  the  soldier  whose  sword 
had  been  turned  into  a  pruning-hook. 

Fanny’s  account  of  their  life  at  this  time  is  written 
in  as  sprightly  a  vein  as  that  of  her  early  Journals  ; 
and  when  a  son  made  his  appearance,  she  sings  her 
Magnificat  with  enthusiasm.  An  appeal  written  by 
her  and  addressed  to  the  ladies  of  England  on  behalf 
of  the  French  clergy  who  had  been  driven  to  England, 
was  actually  her  first  published  work  since  Cecilia  had 
appeared  eleven  years  before.  But  whatever  money 
it  may  have  brought  to  the  “cause”  it  advocated,  it 
brought  none  to  the  writer,  and  she  was  soon  in  need 


454 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


of  some.  It  seems  strange  to  us,  in  these  days  of 
prolific  authorship,  that  it  should  not  have  occurred  to 
her  long  before  to  write  another  novel.  The  profits 
of  Cecilia  must  have  amounted  to  several  thousands 
of  pounds,  though  we  know  from  one  of  the  family 
diaries  that  Burney  sold  the  copyright  for  .£250. 
But  Fanny  had  gained  experience,  and  she  would 
not  have  been  rash  had  she  assumed  that  at  least 
the  ,£2,000  which  Walpole  said  she  had  received 
from  Cecilia  would  be  forthcoming  for  a  fresh 
venture  of  a  similar  type.  It  was  not  until  1794, 
however,  that  she  set  to  work  and  produced  Camilla , 
a  Picture  of  Youth ,  publishing  it  by  subscription  two 
years  later,  and  making,  it  was  calculated,  ,£3,000  by 
the  venture.  If  all  the  subscribers  had  shown 
themselves  to  be  as  generous  as  Edmund  Burke,  who 
sent  twenty  guineas  for  one  set  of  volumes,  her  profits 
would  have  been  quadrupled.  This  from  her  enemy 
was  surely  not  surpassed  by  Hastings,  her  friend, 
though  he  affirmed  that  he  would  attack  the  West 
Indies  with  a  subscription  list  on  her  behalf.  He 
had  been  triumphantly  acquitted  the  previous  year  of 
all  the  charges  brought  against  him — he  had  only 
to  pay  the  magnificent  costs  of  the  spectacular  enter¬ 
tainment  in  Westminster  Hall — and  he  knew  that 
Fanny  had  fought  for  him,  in  spite  of  her  frequent 
association  with  Windham  during  the  trial. 

The  novel  was  dedicated  to  the  Queen,  Fanny 
carrying  the  presentation  set  to  Windsor  to  offer  it 
in  person  to  Her  Majesty,  who  received  it  very 
graciously ;  and  the  author  received  at  the  hands  of 


CONCERNING  MADAME  D’ARBLAY  455 


her  own  successor  in  the  dining-room  a  packet  con¬ 
taining  a  hundred  guineas  from  the  King  and  Queen 
in  acknowledgment  of  the  compliment  of  the  dedi¬ 
cation.  (She  told  the  latter  that  she  had  thought  out 
the  story  when  in  Her  Majesty’s  service.) 

As  to  the  merits  of  the  work  there  has  been  on 
the  whole  very  little  difference  of  opinion  among 
the  ablest  critics  who  have  referred  to  it.  Macaulay, 
dealing  with  Cecilia ,  said  boldly,  in  the  picturesque 
idiom  of  his  day,  that  some  passages  of  it  were 
written  either  by  Johnson  or  the  devil.  Of  Camilla 
we  might  say  the  same,  only  that  we  know  it  could 
not  have  been  written  by  Johnson.  Its  Johnsonese 
is,  however,  fairly  diabolical.  Its  style  possesses 
all  that  is  ponderous  in  Johnson’s  without  a  trace 
of  its  force.  It  is  stilted,  pedantic,  and  dull. 

Out  of  the  proceeds  a  small  house  was  built  and 
named  Camilla  Cottage,  and  here,  within  a  short 
distance  of  Dorking,  the  d’Arblay  family  enjoyed 
for  several  years  a  retirement  rather  more  monastic 
even  than  that  against  which  Fanny  had  once  rebelled. 
In  1798  she  wrote  a  comedy,  and  it  was  accepted 
at  Covent  Garden,  but  when  it  was  put  into  rehearsal 
the  following  year,  Dr.  Burney,  who  was  present, 
predicted  for  it  such  a  failure  as  forced  his  daughter 
and  her  husband  to  withdraw  it.  Dr.  Burney  seems 
to  have  set  up  a  very  strict  censorship  in  respect 
of  his  daughter’s  comedies,  and  she  had,  we  think, 
every  reason  to  complain  of  his  severity. 

The  next  year  the  news  of  the  death  of  her 
sister,  Mrs.  Phillips,  reached  her  ;  and  before 


456 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


she  had  recovered  from  the  shock  she  was  on 
her  way  to  France,  where  she  joined  her  hus¬ 
band,  who  had  gone  to  Paris  to  try  to  recover 
some  of  his  confiscated  property  or  to  get  employ¬ 
ment  under  the  great  First  Consul.  He  was 
successful  only  in  obtaining  a  retiring  allowance  of 
£62  1  os.  per  annum  at  first,  but  later  he  got  a 
situation  in  the  Office  of  Public  Buildings,  and  resided 
with  his  wife  and  child  at  Passy.  For  more  than 
ten  years,  while  war  was  incessant,  the  d’Arblays 
lived  in  France.  Fanny  had  one  serious  illness, 
but  in  1812  she  managed  to  get  back  to  England 
with  her  son.  Only  by  the  aid  of  a  passport  to 
America  did  she  contrive  to  leave  France,  so  strict 
was  the  watch  kept  upon  the  coast.  She  had  made 
an  attempt  to  effect  a  crossing  previously,  but  it 
had  failed. 

Once  more  the  want  of  money  forced  Madame 
d’Arblay  into  the  ranks  of  working  authors.  It  was 
to  send  her  son  to  Cambridge  that  she  published 
The  Wanderer ;  or ,  Female  Difficulties.  It  ap¬ 
peared  in  five  volumes  in  1814,  and  the  value  of 
her  name  on  a  title-page  was  shown  by  the  sale 
of  3,600  copies  at  two  guineas  a  copy.  Her  name 
was,  however,  the  only  thing  of  value  in  the  book. 
The  same  year  her  father  died  at  the  age  of  eighty- 
eight,  his  daughter  being  by  his  side ;  and  before 
many  months  had  passed  she  was  presented  to 
Louis  XVIII.,  who  complimented  her  highly  on  her 
fame,  and  told  her  that  he  had  read  her  books 
“  very  often.”  The  immediate  result  of  her  loyalty 


CONCERNING  MADAME  D’ARBLAY  457 


to  the  Bourbons  was  a  commission  for  her  husband 
in  the  Corps  de  Gardes  and  the  acknowledgment  of 
his  rank  of  Mardchal  de  Camp. 

On  returning  with  him  to  France  this  vision  of 
prosperity  was  too  soon  dispersed  by  the  tyrants 
escape  from  Elba,  followed  by  that  period  of  suspense 
known  as  the  Hundred  Days.  The  King  hurried 
from  Paris  and  Napoleon  entered  the  city.  Madame 
d’Arblay  remained  there  as  long  as  was  safe,  and 
then,  with  the  Princesse  d’Henin,  hastened  to 
Brussels,  where,  with  thousands  of  other  fugitives, 
she  awaited  the  crisis — the  greatest  that  Europe 
had  known  for  centuries — Waterloo.  Her  account 
of  the  Waterloo  week  is  one  of  the  most  spirited 
descriptions  that  ever  came  from  her  pen.  In 
fact,  everything  that  she  wrote  as  she  wrote  her 
Diaries,  without  any  striving  after  literary  effect, 
was  admirable.  No  more  vivid  series  of  pictures 
of  panic,  of  despair  alternating  with  triumph,  of  the 
dementia  of  dread  alternating  with  the  hysteria  of 
delight — all  equally  groundless — have  ever  been 
written  on  the  strenuous  Waterloo  days  at  Brussels, 
unless  by  some  one  who  was  indebted  to  Madame 
d’Arblay,  as  was  Thackeray,  for  the  groundwork 
of  the  narrative. 

The  Brigadier  was  never  a  very  lucky  man,  and 
just  when  he  had  reason  for  expecting  some  com¬ 
pensation  for  his  years  of  adversity,  he  was  kicked 
by  a  horse  and  compelled  to  retire  from  active 
service.  Less  than  three  years  later  he  died  at 
Bath.  His  widow  had  still  twenty-two  years  of 


458 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ROBES 


life  before  her  :  they  were  spent  mostly  in  London, 
and  they  were  uneventful,  except  for  her  work  of 
compiling  the  Memoirs  of  her  father.  She  died 
on  January  4,  1840,  three  years  after  her  son. 

Unhappily  the  blight  of  that  stilted  style  which 
affected  all  her  later  compositions  is  conspicuous  on 
almost  every  page  of  the  Memoirs ,  though  the  book 
cannot  be  read  without  interest  by  every  student  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  Had  it  been  written  in  the 
natural  style  that  makes  her  Diaries  from  first  to 
last  a  delight  not  only  to  students  but  to  all  manner 
of  readers,  it  would  better  deserve  the  praise  given 
to  it  by  Southey  : — 

“  Except  Boswell’s,  there  is  no  other  work  in 
our  language  which  carries  us  into  such  society, 
and  makes  us  fancy  that  we  are  acquainted  with 
the  persons  to  whom  we  are  there  introduced.” 

The  words  of  this  encomium,  even  withdrawing 
the  exception  made  by  Southey,  might,  in  our  opinion, 
reasonably  be  applied  to  her  own  Diary.  She  was 
an  infinitely  more  intelligent  observer  than  Boswell, 
and  certainly  an  infinitely  fairer  critic  ;  for  by  letting 
every  one  into  her  secret  prejudices,  she  shuts  out 
the  possibility  of  any  reader  being  prejudiced 
by  any  statement  she  makes  under  this  influence. 
It  was  her  over-sensitiveness  in  matters  of  taste 
that  prevented  her  Diary  from  becoming  as  popular 
as  Boswell’s  great  work.  She  was  unfortunate 
enough  to  be  endowed  with  good  taste,  but  this 
was  an  affliction  that  never  caused  Mr.  Boswell  an 
hour’s  uneasiness. 


CONCERNING  MADAME  D’ARBLAY  459 


We  cannot  better  conclude  this  brief  sketch  of 
the  latter  years  of  Madame  d’Arblay  than  by 
quoting  from  the  Diary  of  the  greatest  novelist 
of  the  nineteenth  century  his  account  of  meeting 
the  author  of  the  most  delightful  Diary  of  the 
eighteenth.  It  was  on  November  18,  1826, 

that  Sir  Walter  Scott  visited  her,  and  thus  records 
this  interesting  event : — 

“  Introduced  to  Madame  d’Arblay,  the  celebrated 
authoress  of  Evelina  and  Cecilia ,  an  elderly  lady 
with  no  remains  of  personal  beauty,  but  with  a 
simple  and  gentle  manner,  and  pleasing  expression 
of  countenance,  and  apparently  quick  feelings. 
She  told  me  she  had  wished  to  see  two  persons — 
myself,  of  course,  being  one,  the  other  George 
Canning.  This  was  really  a  compliment  to  be 
pleased  with — a  nice  little  handsome  pat  of  butter 
made  up  by  a  neat-handed  Phillis  of  a  dairymaid, 
instead  of  the  grease  fit  only  for  cart-wheels  which 
one  is  dosed  with  by  the  pound.  I  trust  I  shall  see 
this  lady  again.” 

And  this  is  just  what  an  intelligent  reader  will 
say  on  laying  down  the  volumes  of  her  Diary  kept 
when  she  was  a  Keeper  of  the  Robes. 


THE  END 


INDEX 


Abbey,  Westminster,  Handel  Com¬ 
memoration  held  in,  437 
Amelia,  Princess,  184,  186,  187, 
l92>  423-424 

Ancaster,  Duchess  of,  Mistress  of 
the  Robes,  177,  240,  257,  267, 
271,  371 

Animated  Nature,  Goldsmith’s,  292 
Anne,  Queen,  151 
Antoinette,  Marie,  Burke’s  refer¬ 
ence  to,  388 
Aram,  Eugene,  34 
d’Arblay,  Alexandre,  Fanny  Bur¬ 
ney’s  husband,  19,  452  ;  death 
of,  457 

d’Arblay,  Madame  (Fanny  Bur¬ 
ney),  252  ;  marriage,  453  ;  pre¬ 
sented  to  Louis  XVIII.,  456  ; 
death  of,  458 
Arbuthnot,  151 

Argand,  Monsieur  Aime,  of  lamp- 
burner  fame,  201 
Arne,  Dr.,  29-31 

Arnolfini,  Jean,  and  his  wife  (the 
picture  of),  7,  11 
Augier,  220,  293 
Augusta,  Princess  189,  193,  313 
Austen,  Lady,  of  Olney,  toilette  of, 
266 

Baker,  Dr.  (Sir  George),  physician 
to  the  King,  402,  407,  436 
Bath  Guide,  96 
Bay’s  Hill  Lodge,  389 


Bedlam,  203 

Begums,  charges  respecting  the, 
against  Warren  Hastings,  359 
Bertie,  Lady  Charlotte,  267,  271 
Birthday  Ball  at  St.  James’s  Palace, 
the  Queen’s,  302  ;  Miss  Burney’s 
adventures  at,  302-06 
Boswell,  71,97,  98,  no,  in,  318, 
383,  439,  440,  458 
Boucher,  7 

Bowdler,  Miss,  volume  of  ser¬ 
mons  written  by,  278,  335 
Brighthelmstone,  Prince  of  Wales 
living  at,  334 

Brighton,  Prince  of  Wales  offers 
his  villa  at,  as  convalescent 
home  for  His  Majesty,  427 
Bryant,  313 

Bruce,  the  Abyssinian  traveller, 

73-  159-  277 

Buckingham  Palace,  304 
Bunbury,  Mr.  H.  W.,  famous 
caricaturist,  at  Windsor  as 
equerry  to  Duke  of  York, 

325-29 

Burney,  Charles,  29,  87,  350 
Burney,  Dr.,  father  of  Fanny 
Burney,  15,  16,  19-24,  27-37,  5r> 
57-  67,  69,  72,  75,  85,  88,  90,  97, 
112,  117,  118,  124-26,  136,  278, 

29b  300.  30b  456 

Burney,  Fanny,  birth  and  parent¬ 
age  of,  27-37  influence  of  the 
Garricks  on,  43  ;  her  first 


INDEX 


461 


lessons  in  French,  61  ;  her  first 
novel,  Evelina,  accepted  by  Mr. 
Lowndes,  88 ;  attachment  of 
Mrs.  Thrale  to,  109 ;  a  comedy, 
The  Witlings,  written  by,  115; 
Cecilia,  popularity  of,  1 17  ;  her 
faculty  for  forming  friendships, 
1 19;  first  meeting  of,  with  the 
King,  126,  127 ;  her  father’s 
concern  as  to  her  future,  136- 
37 ;  appointment  as  Keeper  of 
the  Robes  accepted  by,  142 ; 
her  reception  by  the  Queen, 
143  ;  arduous  duties  of,  155-59  > 
civility  of  Court  officials  to,  169  ; 
a  breach  of  etiquette,  190 ;  the 
fairness  of  her  references  to 
people,  208-09  ;  her  preference 
for  conversations  with  high 
moral  tone,  217;  her  admira¬ 
tion  for  Colonel  Greville,  225  ; 
a  pattern  of  discretion,  226 ; 
antagonism  of  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg  to,  232-47,  412  ;  her  firm 
stand  for  dignity  approved  by 
the  Queen,  259  ;  with  the  Royal 
family  at  Oxford,  239,  254,  265- 
67  ;  recognised  at  Oxford  Uni¬ 
versity  as  daughter  of  a  Doctor 
of  Music,  271  ;  friendship  of, 
with  Miss  Planta,  274 ;  her 
meetings  with  Herschel,  277 ; 
her  apprehensiveness  in  lending 
the  Queen  Dr.  Burney’s  State  of 
Music  in  Germany,  293-96 ;  and 
Colonel  Goldsworthy,  298  ;  ad¬ 
venture  after  Queen’s  Birthday 
Ball,  302-06  ;  her  impression  of 
Bunbury,  the  caricaturist,  as  a 
man,  328-29 ;  resignation  of, 
falsely  reported  in  newspapers, 
339-40  ;  her  account  of  the  trial 
of  Warren  Hastings  contrasted 
with  Macaulay’s,  342 ;  partisan¬ 


ship  of,  for  Hastings,  343 ;  and 
Mr.  Windham,  356-62  ;  at  the 
trial  of  Warren  Hastings,  371, 
381  ;  visit  of,  to  Cheltenham 
with  the  Royal  Family,  389 ; 
attachment  of,  to  Colonel 
Digby,  392-94  ;  the  King  and, 
in  Kew  Gardens,  415-17  ;  con¬ 
gratulatory  lines  on  the  King’s 
recovery  written  by,  423  ;  her 
account  of  Royal  journey  to 
Dorsetshire,  427  ;  her  criticism 
of  Mrs.  Siddons  as  Rosalind, 
430  ;  breakdown  of  her  health, 
434-35  ;  her  anxiety  to  resign 
her  post,  437  ;  discussion  of 
her  position  with  her  father, 
438-439 ;  her  resignation  sent 
to  the  Queen,  442  ;  her  leave- 
taking  of  the  Queen,  444-45 ; 
granted  a  pension  of  .£100,  449- 
50  ;  marriage  of,  to  Alexandre 
d’Arblay,  452-53  ;  Camilla  writ¬ 
ten  by,  454;  The  Wanderer 
published  in  1814,  456 ;  pre¬ 
sented  to  Louis  XVIII.,  456; 
her  account  of  the  Waterloo 
week,  457 ;  Memoirs  of  her 
father  compiled  by,  458 ;  death 
of,  458 ;  description  of  a  visit 
to,  by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  459 
Burney,  James,  Captain,  33-35,  73, 
371 ;  outspoken  criticism  of 
Burke’s  speech  at  Warren  Hast¬ 
ings’s  trial,  374 

Burney,  Mrs.,  first  wife  of  Dr. 

Burney,  death  of,  41 
Burney,  Mrs.,  the  second,  57-9, 
61,  68,  69,  92,  99,  100 
Burney,  Susan,  61,  99 
Burni,  Maestro,  74 
Burke,  Edmund,  73,  97,  130,  142, 
215,  341-44;  great  speech  at 
trial  of  Warren  Hastings,  371-77 


462 


INDEX 


Burke,  Richard,  elder  brother  of 
Edmund  Burke,  349 
Byron,  11,  17 

Cagliostro,  203 
Cambridge,  Miss,  140,  141 
Camilla,  18,  20,  56,  113,  199;  dedi¬ 
cated  to  the  Queen,  454 
Camilla  Cottage,  near  Dorking, 
the  d’Arblay  family  at,  455 
Canning,  George,  459 
Caroline,  Queen,  149-52 
Cecilia,  17,  18,  20,  81,  112,  1 16-18, 
124,  125,  127,  204,  285,  314-15, 
320,  384,  450,  453 

Cerbera  (Mrs.  Schwellenberg), 
233,  239 

Cerulia,  tragedy  written  by  Fanny 
Burney,  439 

Chambers,  Sir  Thomas,  153 
Charlotte,  Queen,  4, 11,  12,  49;  her 
admiration  for  Mrs.  Delany,  124 
meeting  of,  with  Fanny  Burney 
at  Mrs.  Delany’s,  129,  13 1  ;  Mr. 
Smelt  commissioned  by,  to  offer 
F anny  Burney  the  post  of  Keeper 
of  the  Robes,  132 ;  reception  of 
Fanny  Burney  by,  143  ;  the  daily 
round  of  Fanny  Burney’s  duties 
to,  154-63 ;  her  treatment  of 
Fanny  Burney,  171  ;  her  ex¬ 
change  of  caresses  with  the 
King,  286-87  '>  Dr.  Burney’s 
book,  The  Present  State  of  Music 
in  Germany,  borrowed  by, 
291-96 ;  accepts  Birthday  Ode, 
written  by  Dr.  Burney,  301  ; 
her  Birthday  Ball  at  St.  James’s 
Palace,  302 ;  at  Fauconberg 
Hall,  389-90 ;  her  distress  at 
the  King’s  illness,  405-06 ; 
slander  circulated  about,  41 1  ; 
affected  at  Fanny  Burney’s 
leave-taking,  444 


Chelsea  Hospital,  Dr.  Burney 
organist  of,  130 

Cheltenham,  Fanny  Burney  goes 
to,  with  Royal  Family,  389- 
95 

Chenany,  Jeanne  de,  7 
Chessington,  58,  67,  68,  76, 98-100, 
103,  107,  1 16,  1 17 
Chessington  Hall,  48,  51 
Cholmondeley,  Lord,  97,  101 
Cholmondeley,  Mrs.,  97,  107, 

384 

Christ  Church,  Royalty  at,  270 
Chroniques  Scandaleuses,  14 
Cibber,  Mrs.,  sister  of  Dr.  Arne, 
29 

Claremont,  Lady,  343 
Clarence,  Duke  of,  437 
Clayton,  Lady  Louisa,  13 1 
Colman,  George,  73,  84 
Colonels  in  the  Diary,  220 
Commons,  House  of,  Lady  Clare¬ 
mont’s  description  of  members 
of,  130 

Cook,  Lieutenant,  73 
Copes,  the,  363 

Cornhill,  Thackeray’s  “  Four 
Georges”  lecture  in,  190 
Court-days,  special  dress  for, 
155 

Court  Diary,  14,  19 
Courtown,  Lord,  390 
Cradock,  Walpole’s  “  country 
gentleman,”  49 

Crewe,  Mrs.,  daughter  of  the 
Grevilles,  72,  382 

Crisp,  Samuel,  48-52,  55-57,  73, 
98-100,  104,  1 13,  1 16,  124 
Crutchley,  Mr.,  349,  367,  377 
Croker,  238,  281 
Cumberland,  84 

Death  of  Abel,  Gesner’s,  34 
Delany,  Dr.,  119 


INDEX 


463 


Delany,  Mrs.,  49,  86,  123-29,  140, 
143,  163,  172,  173,  185,  189,  190, 
192,  193,202,  225,232,  281,  335, 
421 

De  Luc,  Mr.,  geologist  and  Court 
Reader,  223,  242-43,  436 
Derby,  Earl  of,  314 
Dewes,  Miss,  128 
Dewes,  Mr.,  127,  128 
Diary- Letters,  56,  177,  392 
Diary,  value  of  the,  209,  287 
Digby,  Colonel  Stephen  (“  Colonel 
Fairly”),  Vice-Chamberlain  to 
the  Queen,  215;  marriage  of, 
to  Miss  Gunning,  218;  Fanny 
Burney’s  cordial  relations  with, 
433 

Digby,  Mrs.,  219 

Dobson,  Mr.  Austin,  264,  278,  316 
Dodsley,  86 

Dramatist,  The,  farce  by  O'Keefe, 
43i 

Dryden,  192 

Diirer,  Albrecht,  Melancholia  of, 
253 

Edwy  and  Elgiva,  tragedy  written 
by  Miss  Burney,  439,  451 
Effingham,  Lady,  First  Lady  of 
the  Bedchamber,  169,  170,  172, 
403 

Egerton,  Mrs.  Ariana,  Bedchamber 
woman,  298 

Elizabeth,  Princess,  189,  193,  254 
Elliot,  Gilbert,  first  Earl  of  Minto 
and  Governor-General  of  India, 
349 

English  Merchant,  The,  read  by 
Fanny  Burney  to  the  Queen,  437 
Etiquette  of  Royal  dressing-room, 
150-53 

Evelina,  Fanny  Burney’s  first, 
novel,  17,  20-22,  44,  49,  56,  57, 
60,  77,  81,  82,  85,  89,  90-2,  95, 


96,  98-101,  104,  107,  1 13-15, 1 17, 
1 18,  124,  128,  167,  r77,  204,  251, 
254,  278,  285,  304,  312,  316,  344, 
348,  423,  451 

Evelyn,  Caroline,  60,  81,  91 
Exeter,  31 1  ;  Royal  tour  to,  431 

Falconer’s  Shipwreck,  393,  394 
Farren,  Miss,  314 
Fauconberg  Hall,  or  Bay’s  Hill 
Lodge,  Royal  Family  at,  389 
Festivities  for  the  King’s  recovery, 

427 

Fielding,  Mrs.,  Bedchamber 
woman,  153 

Fite,  Madame  de  la,  170,  199-202, 
205,  206 

FitzHerbert,  Mrs.,  334,  430 
FitzRoy,  Colonel,  and  Princess 
Amelia,  184 

“  Four  Georges  ”  lecture,  190 
Fox,  Charles  James,  72,  345 ;  at 
Warren  Hastings’s  trial,  381 
Fragonard,  7 
Francesca  of  Dante,  394 

Gaberlunzie  Man,  The,  63 
Gainsborough,  n 
Garrick,  42,  44,  49,  50,  71,  317 
Garricks,  the,  42  ;  influence  of,  on 
Fanny  Burney,  43 
Genlis,  Madame  de,  14,  200-03 
George  III.,  King,  and  Dr.  Burney, 
126 ;  first  meeting  of,  with 
Fanny  Burney  at  Mrs.  Delany's 
house,  126-27 ;  his  annoyance 
at  post  of  Master  of  the  King’s 
Band  not  being  given  to  Dr. 
Burney,  13 1 ;  narrow  escape 
of  assassination  by  Margaret 
Nicholson,  188 ;  reference  of, 
to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  245 ; 
presentation  of  address  to,  at 
Oxford  University,  267-70  ;  ex- 


464 


INDEX 


change  of  caresses  with  the 
Queen,  recorded  by  Miss 
Burney,  286-87  '<  illness  of, 
400  et  seq. ;  his  recovery,  423  ; 
farewell  to  Fanny  Burney  on  her 
resignation  as  Keeper  of  the 
Robes,  444 
Gillray,  327 

Goldsmith,  Oliver,  313,  318,  326, 

327 

Goldsworthy,  Colonel,  222,  224, 
282-84,  297 

Goldsworthy,  Miss,  315,  406 
Gomme,  Miss,  348  ;  interest  of, 
in  Gilbert  Elliot,  first  Earl  of 
Minto,  349 

Gordon,  Lord  George,  203 
Gouthiere,  7 

Great  Wild  Street — a  corruption  of 
Weld  Street,  430 

Greville,  Colonel  Robert  Fulke 
(“Mr.  Welbred”),  219,  220,  225 
Grevilles,  the,  72 

Guiffardiere,  Rev.  Charles  de  (“  Mr. 
Turbulent’’),  205-07,  209-11, 

219.  237,  238,  241,  391,  436 
Gunning,  Miss,  marriage  of,  to 
Colonel Digby,  218,  434 
Gwyn,  Colonel,  equerry  to  King 
George  III.,  194,  326,  390,  428 
Gwyn,  Mrs.  (Goldsmith’s  “Jes- 
samy  Bride  ”),  194,  320,  326 

Haggerdorn,  Mrs.,  129,  132,  153, 
169,  172,  173,  200,  225,  227,  234, 
235. 252 

Hairdresser,  importance  of,  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  264 
Hamlet,  318,  451 

Hampstead,  view  of,  from  Queen’s 
Square,  Bloomsbury,  61 
Handel,  171,  183,  269,  420 
Handel  Commemoration,  126,  437^ 
443 


Handelian,  King  George  III.  a 
thorough,  171 

Harcourt,  General,  267,  273 
Harcourt,  Lady,  257-59,  267 
Harcourt,  Lord,  254,  267,  273 
Harcourt,  Mrs.,  320 
Hastings,  Mrs.,  174,  215 
Hastings,  Warren,  174  ;  character 
of,  215  ;  Impeachment  of,  341-50 
Hawkesbury,  Lady,  363 
Heberden,  Dr.,  called  in  to  attend 
the  King,  403 

Herschel,  Dr.,  223,  277,  278 
Highgate,  61 

History  of  Music ,  Dr.  Burney’s,  33, 
51,  60,  6r,  67,  68,  75-77,  130,  420 
Hood,  Thomas,  34 
Hornecks,  the  beautiful  Miss 
(Goldsmith’s  “  Little  Comedy  ” 
and  “  Jessamy  Bride  ”),  326 
Hugget,  Mr.,  chaplain  to  the  King, 
267 

Hundred  Days,  the,  457 

Ilchester,  Earl  of,  daughter  of, 
married  to  Colonel  Digby,  215 
Illumination  of  London  at  public 
thanksgiving  for  the  King’s 
restoration  to  health,  423 
Imagination,  Pleasures  of,  393 

James’s  Powders,  Royal  Family’s 
faith  in,  402-3 
Jephtha,  126 

Johnson,  Dr.,  56,  71-3,  76,  97,  98, 
103,  108,  111-13,  1 18,  318,  383, 
384,  455 

Jordan,  Mrs.,  actress,  325,  329 
Josephus,  a  medium  for  display  of 
elocution,  241 

Kelly,  84 
Kemble,  451 

Kenyon,  Lord  Chief  Justice,  387 


INDEX 


465 


Kew,  174,  r76,  177,  179,  187,  191, 
246,  251,  400,  408 

Kew  Gardens,  Fanny  Burney’s 
adventure  with  the  King  in, 
415-22 

Kew  Lodge,  175,  246 
King,  Dr.,  74 

King’s  Band,  the,  Dr.  Burney  and 
Mastership  of,  421 
King’s  Lynn,  58 

Labiche,  293 
La  Coquette  Corrigee,  210 
Lady  of  Quality,  toilette  of  the, 
264 

Lamb,  Charles,  34 
Lancelot  and  Guinevere,  394 
Lansdowne,  Lord,  123 
Leaders  of  fashion,  Miss  Burney’s 
books  read  by,  135 
Lectures ,  Hunter’s,  read  by  the 
Queen,  402 
Leicester  Fields,  70 
Le  Mie  Prigioni,  17 
Les  Femmes  Savantes ,  Moliere’s, 

115 

Leverick,  Mrs.,  the  town  Ward¬ 
robe  woman,  176 

Life  of  Johnson,  Boswell's,  n,  71, 
no,  440 

Locke,  “  Fredy,”  450 
Locke,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  170,  205 
Lockes,  the,  225 
London  Chronicle,  91 
Longleat,  seat  of  the  Marquis  of 
Bath,  Royal  party  at,  431 
Lords  and  Commons,  congratu¬ 
latory  address  received  by  the 
King  from,  424 

Lords,  House  of,  trial  of  Warren 
Hastings  by,  341 

Louis  XVIII.,  Madame  d’Arblay 
(Fanny  Burney)  presented  to, 
456 


Lowndes,  Mr.  87-90 
Luc,  de,  Mr.,  242-43 
Luc,  de,  Mrs.,  441 
Lulworth  Castle,  Royal  party  visit 
430 ;  the  King  and  Queen’s 
family  interest  in,  430 
Lyndhurst,  Royal  progress 
through,  427 
Lynn,  57,  60,  62 
Lytton,  Bulwer,  34 

Macaulay,  Lord,  15-18,  20, 24, 49, 
88,  138,  188,  206,  207,  341-43 
MacBurney,  James,  Dr.  Burney’s 
father,  28 

Managers  of  the  Prosecution  at 
Warren  Hastings’s  trial,  344, 
347-  381 

Manners,  Colonel,  his  criticism  of 
Herschel,  223  ;  vocalism  of,  224 
Marriage  Act,  the,  of  1771,  334 
Mary,  Princess.  192,  257,  291 
Masham,  Lady,  Bedchamber 
woman  to  Queen  Anne,  15 1 
Mason,  poet-painter,  264 
Mecklenburg,  Charlotte  of,  Hag- 
gerdorn  of,  and  Schwellenberg 
of,  234 

Mecklenburg  ring,  the,  169 
Memoir  of  Dr.  Burney,  56,  113,  142, 
458 

Methusalem,  Colonel  Goldsworthy 
and, 288-89 

Mickleham  Church,  Fanny  Burney 
married  to  Alexandre  d’Arblay 
at,  453 

Minto,  Earl  of,  Governor-General 
of  India,  349 
Mithof,  Mr.,  279-80 
Montagu,  Mr.,  member  of  Parlia¬ 
ment  for  Higham  Ferrers,  348 
Monthly  Review,  100 
Moore’s  Life  of  Byron,  n 
More,  Hannah,  142 


31 


466 


INDEX 


Miithel,  74 

Mysterious  Mother,  The,  207 

Napoleon,  457 
Nautical  Almanac,  329 
New  Forest,  Royal  progress 
through  the,  427 

Newspapers  and  Fanny  Burney’s 
position  in  the  Royal  Family, 
339-40 

Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  69,  278 
Nicholson,  Margaret,  attempt  of, 
to  assassinate  the  King,  188,  189 
Nollekens,  73 

Norbury  Park,  the  home  of  Mr. 

and  Mrs.  Locke,  170,  200,  205 
Novel-reading,  Dr.  Burney’s 
objection  to,  85 

Novel,  the,  in  the  eighteenth  cen¬ 
tury,  86 

Nuneham  Courtney,  Lord  Har- 
court’s  place,  240,  254,  260,  265, 
272,  273,  320 

Ode,  Queen’s  Birthday,  by  Fanny 
Burney,  300-01 
Ode  for  St.  Cecilia’s  Day,  33 
Omai,  73,  373 

Opera  House,  Haymarket,  171 
Original  Love  Letters  between  a  Lady 
of  Quality  and  a  Person  of  Superior 
Condition,  Combe’s,  read  by 
Fanny  Burney  and  Colonel 
Digby,  393 

Orloff,  Count,  favourite  of  the 
Russian  Empress,  74 
Ovid  quoted,  269 

Oxford,  Royal  visit  to,  239,  254,  265; 

Mayor  of,  knighted,  271 
Oxford,  Vice-Chancellor  of,  pre¬ 
sentation  of  address  by,  to  the 
King,  263 

Pacchierotti,  74 

Passy,  the  d’Arblays  reside  at,  456 


Pepys,  Mr.,  3,  4,  142 
Pepys,  Sir  Lucas,  407,  412 
Perseus,  306 

Phillips,  Mrs.,  Fanny  Burney’s 
sister,  death  of,  455 
Piozzi,  Gabrielli,  second  husband 
of  Mrs.  Thrale,  72,  75,  1 1 1 
Pitt  and  the  Ministry,  Burke’s  aim 
to  discredit,  41 1 

Planta,  Miss,  teacher  to  the  Royal 
Princesses,  175,  176,  205,  237, 
24L  255,  257-60,  267,  274,  393, 
404 

Pleasures  of  Imagination,  393,  394 
Poland  Street,  the  Burneys’  home 
in,  34,  44,  48,  58,  60,  69,  81 
Polly  Honeycombe,  Colman’s,  436 
Pope,  123 

Port,  Miss,  Mrs.  Delany’s  niece, 
127,  128,  279 

Portia,  Mrs.  Siddons  as,  316 
Portland,  the  Dowager  Duchess 
of,  123,  124 

Present  State  of  Music  in  Germany, 
The,  Dr.  Burney’s,  borrowed  by 
the  Queen,  291 

Price,  Major,  famous  backgammon 
player,  193,  221,  267 
Princesses,  six  handsome,  185 
Prisoner  of  Chillon,  The,  17 
Probationary  Odes,  128 

Quality,  Lady  of,  toilette  of  the, 
264 

Queen’s  bell,  the,  167 
Queen’s  Lodge,  142,  154,  191,  326, 
330,  402,  406 

Queen’s  Square,  Bloomsbury, 
home  of  the  Burneys,  61,  68,  69 

Rajahs  and  Begums,  387 
Ramsden,  Colonel,  222 
Ranees  and  Sahibs,  387 
Rauzzini,  75 


INDEX 


467 


Regency  Bill  abandoned,  423 
Regency  Committee,  examination 
of  doctors  by,  as  to  the  King’s 
condition,  41 1 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  35,  70,  72, 
73,  97,  109,  187,  240,  318,  320, 
326,  348 
Rissener,  7 
Rivals,  The ,  84,  451 
Robe-keeper,  Junior,  268,  313,  318, 
449 

Roche,  Madame  de  la,  202-04 
Rosalind,  Mrs.  Siddons  as,  430 
Round  Tower,  154 
Rowlandson,  327 
Royal  Drawing-room,  178 
Royal  Establishment,  238 
Royal  Lodge,  143,  175 
Royal,  Princess,  175,  186,  189,  193, 
194,  239,  257,  313 

St.  George’s  Chapel,  439 
St.  James’s,  176,  179,  239 
St.  James’s  Palace,  Queen’s  Birth¬ 
day  Ball  at,  302-03 
St.  James’s  Place,  123 
St.  James’s  Street,  176,  303 
Salisbury,  Lord,  131,  421 
Salisbury,  Royal  progress  through, 
427 

Saltram,  Royal  party  at,  431 
Sandhurst,  167 

Sardinian  Chapel,  Lincoln’s  Inn 
Fields,  453 
Sardou,  220,  293 

Schwellenberg,  Mrs.,  Senior 
Keeper  of  the  Robes,  144,  154, 

i56-  !S8,  ib9*  *69,  i73>  i75>  j76, 

179,  180,  193,  199,  215,  216,  225, 
227,  231-47,  389,  412 
Scott,  Major,  356 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  99  ;  visit  of,  to 
Madame  d’Arblay,  459 
Seymour,  Queen  Jane,  3,  4 


Shakespeare,  325 

Shepherd,  Rev.  Dr.,  Canon  of 
Windsor  and  “  Master  of 
Mechanics  ”  to  the  King,  331 
Sheridan,  R.  B.,  84,  115,  215,  341, 
345,  372,  45 1 

Siddons,  Mrs.,  as  Portia,  and  in 
The  Provok’d  Husband,  316; 
as  The  Tragic  Muse,  318;  pen- 
portrait  of,  by  Fanny  Burney, 
318-19  ;  at  Weymouth,  429 ; 
as  Rosalind,  430 

Smelt,  Mr.,  125,  129-32,  135,  139, 
!58>  232,311,  411 
Sophia,  Princess,  189,  192 
Sorrows  of  Werther,  The,  204,  330 
South  Seas,  the,  277 
Speaker,  the,  “  a  sort  of  Represen¬ 
tative  of  the  King,”  356 
State  visit  to  theatre,  431 
Stoke  Place,  172 
Streatfields,  the,  200 
Streatham  Hall,  visit  of  Miss 
Burney  to  Mrs.  Thrale  at,  103, 
108 

Taller,  The,  334 
Tessier,  Le,  325 
Thackeray,  190 

Thanksgiving,  public,  for  restora¬ 
tion  of  the  King’s  health,  423 
Thielky,  Mrs.,  154,  156,  159,  169 
Thrale,  Henry,  in,  367 
Thrale,  Mrs.,  72,  97,  98,  101,  102, 
103,  107,  109,  no,  in,  115-17, 

125 

Thurlow,  347,  355 
Tobin,  84 

Toilette  of  Queen  Charlotte,  154-57 
Tottenham  Park,  seat  of  Lord 
Ailesbury,  43 1 

Trianon,  Great  and  Little,  7,  10 
Tuileries,  10 
Turner,  n 


468 


INDEX 


Van  Eyck,  7 

Vernons,  the  Miss,  Lady  Har- 
court’s  sisters,  258-59,  263,  267, 
273 

Versailles,  10 

Vice-Chancellor  of  Oxford,  pre¬ 
sentation  of  address  to  the  King 
by,  267 
Virginia,  50 

Waldegrave,  Lady  Elizabeth, 
436 

Wales,  Prince  of,  married  to  Mrs. 
FitzHerbert,334  ;  reconciliation 
with  the  King  and  Queen,  335; 
visit  of,  to  the  King  at  Windsor, 
408  ;  his  concern  for  the  King’s 
illness,  405 

Walpole,  Horace,  22,  23,  49,  143 
Wanderer,  The;  or,  Female  Diffi¬ 
culties,  published  by  Madame 
d’Arblay,  456 1 
Waterloo,  457 
Watteau,  7,  453 
Watts,  Dr.,  329 
Waverley,  97 

Weld,  great  Catholic  family  of, 
430 

Wesley,  Charles,  Handel’s  com¬ 
positions  played  by,  at  command 
of  the  King,  171 
Westminster  Abbey,  437 


Westminster  Hall,  343,  354,  357, 
37L  381,  388,  454 

Weymouth,  Royal  visit  to,  427  etseq. 

Wieland,  poet,  202,  204 

Willis,  Dr.  Francis,  and  his  son, 
treatment  of  the  King  by,  409  ; 
Burke  on,  410-n 

Winchester,  Royal  progress 
though,  427 

Windham,  leading  spirit  of  prose¬ 
cution  at  Hastings’s  trial,  345, 
350  ;  Macaulay’s  eulogy  of,  354  ; 
Hastings  discussed  with  Fanny 
Burney,  359-61 

Windsor,  16 1,  177-79,  188,  189, 
200,  204,  232,  236,  239,  241,  245, 
251,  254,  280,  431 

Windsor  Castle,  124,  126  ;  Terrace 
of,  130,  158,  190,  191 

Witlings,  The,  115 

World,  the,  publication  of  false 
news  by,  as  to  Fanny  Burney’s 
resignation,  339-40 

York,  Duke  of,  visit  of,  to  the  King 
and  Queen  at  Windsor,  325- 
33  ;  rapprochement  between  the 
Prince  of  Wales  and  his  parents, 
brought  about  by,  334-36 

York,  Archbishop  of,  attitude  of, 
towards  Warren  Hastings,  356- 

57 


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